The Queensguard
by MissyMaestro
Summary: After the war is won, Jorah takes his place as a Queensguard. Daenerys arranges a marriage between her beloved bear and a woman she knew during the war, but secrecy, rebellion, and old feelings make life anything but peaceful.
1. Chapter 1

After a trying day, Jorah Mormont sighed and pushed open the door to his small wing in the palace. Everything about the day had irked or rubbed him raw – literally. The old grayscale-scarred tissue on his torso and arm acted up from time to time, especially when the summers were hot. While he served beside the queen, heavy armor pressed against him, bringing the dull burning back to mind.

Already he'd expected a painful evening, but the day's events ensured it. A fanatic rebel lashed out as the Queen made her way through the city streets. Sir Jorah easily cut him down, but the intense movement left his body screaming. The unrest in the city was growing week over week, but the small counsel chose to pretend it was a normal part of rule. Jorah disagreed, but his voice fell on ignoring ears. Instead of proactively stopping the rebels, he spilled their blood in the streets for Daenerys Targaryen.

The silver armor clanged as Jorah grunted and removed his it piece by piece. He swore, not noticing the woman leaning against the doorway with a soft smile at her lips.

A lovely woman, just thirty, wore a kind smile and the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled as she beheld him. Her name was Baylee. Highgarden had once been her home, but the war seemed to have displaced everyone as houses broke, expanded, and relocated. She shared the same lovely round race Queen Margery had once charmed the people of Westeros with, but as a commoner, was more tanned and built with muscle.

"Bad day, I see, my lord," she greeted him. "Dinner will be ready very soon. Wine?"

"Yes. And it smells wonderful," he replied gruffly. With another hiss of pain, he pulled off his tunic and let it fall to the floor as he examined himself in a mirror.

"Is it your arm?" Baylee asked softly as she appeared behind him with a full glass of wine. "Shall I prepare a bath?" She set the chalice down and tenderly ran her fingertips down his back. "You aren't very warm. That's a good sign." She traced around to his front side and frowned as he fingers brushed along the cracked and bleeding skin. "But this – let me draw a bath and-"

"Later," Jorah replied. "Later." He reached for the wine and took a long drink. "Thank you."

Were these the olden days, he wouldn't be permitted a wife. As a member of the Queensguard he would remain single and childless. But as expected, his Khaleesi bucked every tradition she encountered and urged those who served her to enjoy "the life they deserved," she'd put it.

Of what he _deserved_ , Jorah did not know. What he _wanted_ had for years been the dragon queen, but a disgraced, then redeemed knight was no match for royalty. Besides, Khaleesi neither needed nor wanted a man by her side in any romantic capacity. As for lovely Baylee, so kind, perhaps unlucky in ending up as his wife, Jorah felt he failed to _deserve_ her, either. His desire and love had nothing to do with his guilt concerning her, and he worried whether she felt like a consolation prize.

Now she pressed a soft kiss against his stinging shoulder. "Dinner will be hot by now. Let's eat."

* * *

After dinner, as Baylee had promised, she drew a bath and prepared the potions the maester had instructed to sooth the ravaged tissue. Jorah was cured of grayscale, to be sure, and could neither pass on or become infected by the disease again, but its side effects were severe enough that he considered himself afflicted still.

He lowered himself into the cool bath and squeezed his eyes shut as the water washed over his skin. "I'm an old man with a broken body," he commented in dismay.

Baylee turned from where she was mixing liquids and tonics together at the counter. "We all die some day whether we've used up our bodies or not," she simply replied. "You have had many adventures and served a great queen with yours." She smiled down at him, even as he scowled in discomfort. "They tell stories of you, Ser Jorah the Andal." She knelt next to him and pressed an elixir-soaked rag against his shoulder. "You have all of your limbs and your life, and that's more than many men can say of the war."

Jorah nodded. She was right. Baylee was far wiser than she should be, and he loved her for it. More than a dozen years separated them, but Jorah took solace in that the woman seemed to have some secret worldly experience regarding her maturity. Besides, she seemed to enjoy being with him. "You deserve a young man, not someone you have to look after," he mumbled as guilt chewed at him like a dog with a favorite toy.

Scoffing and slapping the rag down on his collarbone harder than she meant to, Baylee sat back on her haunches and rested her hands on top of her thighs. After a few moments with a furrowed brow, she took a deep breath and smiled. "When the Mother of Dragons set about finding her great knight a wife, you have no idea how many families offered their daughters. Teenagers, children. All the remaining great houses begging, clamoring for a chance to wed a daughter to you."

Wrinkling his nose in disbelief, Jorah looked to her. "Khaleesi brought you to me and that was all I knew. She set to find me a suitable wife, and she did." He studied her face for any tell of a jest. "She said nothing of a great search."

A girlish laugh echoed about the tile room. "She told you nothing of her search for your bride?" Baylee smirked. "Royals. Princesses. Heirs to lands and palaces." When her husband's face didn't change, hers fell. "You truly didn't know."

Still confused, Jorah shook his head. In the year they'd been married, she'd actually told him nothing of how she came to be named his future wife. And he hadn't thought to ask, and now felt very foolish for it.

"I had no idea," he admitted.

She smiled again and picked the rag back up to continue her work on his angry skin. "There were meetings all across the seven kingdoms. Her advisers met with houses, and if those meetings were agreeable, met with the girls. The requirements were strict. No prior husbands. No children. No one from a traitorous house. They preferred a girl with warrior's blood. Beautiful. Thin. Young." She sighed happily. "And I wasn't even a part of any of it. Too old. No notable relatives. I was a war widow."

His eyes narrow as he tried to absorb the information, Jorah felt like he was missing something. He knew all these things about his wife. Yet if her story was true, she wouldn't have been considered, not for an instant. "How did they come about you, then?" he asked. The irritation in his skin nearly forgotten, he hung on every word.

"Well, as you know, Father is a bannerman for House Tyrell. He heard a queensguard on the street complaining about the women in Highgarden. Too stupid. Too frail. Too _something_ , every one of them. So my father joked with them about whether a widow who meddled in mens' affairs was out of the running."

Jorah smiled and let his head rest back against the tub. "I should write your father again. I had no idea I owe my current happiness to him."

"I had just returned home on horseback a few days later when my father showed up with the Queen herself. We talked. I had no idea what more she wanted from me." Her amber eyes flickered to his and held his gaze.

" _What more_?" Jorah repeated. "She asked something of you before?" He sat up straighter in interest.

Nodding, Baylee studied her husband's face for a moment. "I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you." She sighed, then shrugged. "Many women served in the war, some in different ways than others. Me, perhaps, more intimately than most."

"Tell me," Jorah urged her.

"I gathered information; posing as a barmaid, a silent sister, a brothel girl." Baylee poured more tonic on the rag and pressed it to his wrist. "My husband was dead and I had no children. My life had to have _some_ meaning. So I wrote the queen with what I had learned."

Water sloshed over the side of the tub. Jorah reached and grabbed her forearms. " _You_ were Khaleesi's Highgarden spy?" His eyes were wide in utter shock. Stories about the Highgarden spy always left Jorah feeling uneasy. There had been many close calls, stints in captivity, threats, and calls for her head. A woman alone in the seven kingdoms during the war wasn't safe; especially if she worked in secret against the Lannisters in a Lannister-held kingdom. The Highgarden spy had provided priceless information during the war and Jorah had only assumed she had met an ugly end.

Instead, he had unknowingly married her.

Her eyes sparkled in a way he'd never seen before. "She thought it best if you didn't know. Anyway, on that day she asked if I'd heard of her Sir Jorah Mormont." She giggled and blushed. "And of course I had. She said we were fitting rewards for each other." After a moment of silence, she clicked her tongue. "Don't be angry, my lord. The queen said you didn't need to be burdened with-"

Jorah sat back and exhaled, shaking his head at her. The shock sent a nervous energy through his limbs. "That you can be married to a woman for a year and know nothing about her," he muttered. "I should have known." Finally, he opened an eye and grinned at her. "A spy? I presume you know of my gambling with Tyrion, then."

Relieved laughter burst from her. "My dear lord. You have no secrets from me, I'm afraid." The lovely woman offered him a lovely smile. "I have no other secrets."

Jorah wondered how he'd missed the obvious signs. She knew far more about the war than a regular commoner defending her land would know. Baylee spoke with a strange familiarity regarding Daenerys. Nothing shook her. Now he beheld her, the lovely woman who had risked her life to put his queen on the throne. "Khaleesi said she met a girl who would be my ideal wife, and that's all I needed to know."

"Was the wise queen right about that?" Baylee offered a lopsided smile. "In lieu of her hand, at least?"

The grin fell away. "In lieu of-?" Jorah whispered as his heart crashed into his ribs. He had always known it. His love for Daenerys Targaryen preceded him, and his lovely wife, who he now was certain he didn't deserve, knew it. Guilt and sorrow seemed to dissolve his capacity to think about anything else.

"My husband, I know I am not your true love," she carefully answered. "But you have become mine, and that is enough for me." She carefully pressed her lips to his temple. "We don't get to choose our place in life, but we can choose to enjoy it."


	2. The Queen's Chambers

" _We don't get to choose our place in life, but we can choose to enjoy it."_

Baylee's words repeated themselves in Jorah's mind the entire next morning. As he sat tall at Khaleesi's side at the small counsel meeting, he found himself having a hard time focusing on the discussion.

 _"We don't get to choose our place in life, but we can choose to enjoy it."_

After Baylee uttered those poignant words, she'd wrung out her rag and excused herself for an evening horseback ride. Nighttime deepened and the candles burned low before she returned. That wasn't unusual for her, but that night, Jorah wondered if she was out spying, or perhaps lamenting her poor luck to be married to a man still in love with the queen he served. Either situation left him feeling low.

A nudge against his elbow pulled him back to the present. "Are you well?" Missandei whispered to him.

He blinked. The entire table had directed their attention to him. Expectant glances made him flush.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "What are your thoughts on the North, Ser Jorah?"

"I, I – forgive me, Khaleesi," he stuttered. "Concerning?"

The queen gave him a concerned look before repeating the situation. From across the table, Grey Worm scowled, unimpressed.

An hour later when the counsel dismissed, Daenerys pulled him aside. "Is something amiss?" She studied his face with intense scrutiny. "You are not at all yourself."

"No, Khaleesi," he replied earnestly. "All is well."

"You cannot lie to me," Daenerys snapped. "What troubles you?"

After a moment, he nodded once in defeat. Their years together betrayed him, and none could not withhold information from the Dragon Queen. "My wife has kept something from me, and I from her."

Daenerys blinked in surprise, but said nothing.

"You married me to the Highgarden spy." He looked into the queen's face, hoping for an answer. Not even a micro-expression betrayed her feelings. Weighing his words carefully, he continued. "Why didn't you tell me? Every day I serve you and guard your secrets, but-"

"Her identity was hers to reveal, not mine," Khaleesi quickly retorted. "I'm sorry to have intruded upon your personal matters, Ser Jorah. Give my best to Lady Baylee."

Jorah bowed his head and watched as she turned and swept away. "Of course."

* * *

Lady Mormont was not home when Jorah left Khaleesi's side for the day.

"Baylee?" he called as he began pulling off his armor. "Have you started dinner? I thought we might go down to the square and find a-" He trailed off as soon as he spotted a note in her hand on a table.

" _I received a command from Her Grace and am riding to Highgarden."_

He read the note over once more to ensure his confused rage was well-placed before heading immediately to Daenerys' private chambers. The abruptness of the order and fact that it came the day Jorah confronted her about Baylee's past as a spy was much too suspect to go by unaddressed.

"I need to speak to her. Now," Jorah sternly greeted his fellow guards, who moved aside and allowed him entry without daring to question him. They didn't try to hide their curiosity, however.

The Great Bear, as some of them referred to him, was the chiefest general and knight in the queen's court. None challenged him but the queen herself, and more than once guards had been shocked to hear Ser Jorah rebut Daenerys's arguments or orders with his own. He was a smart man and wise counsel, but often his charges feared he would wake the dragon and incur her wrath. It was common knowledge that Ser Jorah had served the queen for years, even as she was a girl in Essos. Something was secret and deep between them, the rest of the guards decided, for why else would she allow Jorah access to her at all hours of the day?

"Khaleesi," he demanded as he walked through the golden, glittering hallway toward her.

Inside, the queen was lounging on a large purple bed with a handmaiden, excitedly chatting over the woman's large pregnant belly.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys exclaimed in pleasant tones he knew to be false. "And what brings you?" She nodded to a large decanter of wine on the bedside table. "Join us. I hate to drink alone."

"No, thank you, Khaleesi. I came to ask after Baylee. She left this note." He held it up as proof. "I don't understand what errand you would have had of her."

Khaleesi looked at him as if she were looking through him. "I had need of Lady Baylee and-"

Her unconcerned facade triggered him. "You sent my wife away without so much as a word?" His voice was sharp and loud. Jorah's nostrils flared and his sudden anger surprised him. Though he should have regretted the outburst, he didn't.

One dark eyebrow arched back at him. "You challenge your queen, Ser?" Daenerys got off of the bed and stalked toward him.

Violet eyes bore into him and something stirred in Jorah's abdomen. _Desire._ The way her satin gown draped over her breasts and hugged her hips inspired memories that shouldn't serve a married man. "No, of course not, Khaleesi," he replied, dropping his gaze to the floor between them. Guilt and disgust crawled over him from the ground up, grabbing and climbing up his body, leaving a sick feeling as it traveled. When it finally reached his head, Jorah wanted to physically scrape it off of him. _You are here to ask after your wife, not molest the queen in your thoughts._ He cleared his throat and tried not to think of the bed behind her. "But what issue was so grave that you couldn't send me instead?" He looked back up to her, alarmed that her stern glare hadn't softened. Her anger relit his own. _Why is she angry that a man asks after his wife?_ "The war is over. She is no longer in your service. You have an entire staff, queensguards, knights-"

"I had Highgarden matters that needed attention!" Now the queen's voice had risen to a sharp bark.

Missandei entered the queen's suite and looked disinterestedly at the pair as they stood facing each other, both panting with their fists clenched. This wasn't the first time the general and the queen had gotten into arguments. She poured herself wine and exited onto the balcony, calling the pregnant handmaiden to come out with her. The girl looked relieved for an excuse to leave the argument.

Realizing Daenerys was aggravated enough that she'd never relent, Jorah bowed his head. "All due respect, Khaleesi, but my wife said she only spied during the-"

"You know little of your wife, then," Khaleesi interrupted. "Trust that I had need of her, and she shall return in a few days." She regarded him as she did insolent dignitaries or enemy rulers. "I'll not have my general telling me what I can and cannot do with my spies."

Jorah's jaw snapped shut and he quickly bowed and turned to dismiss himself. Relief to be out of her chambers washed over him. The backdrop of her bedroom was too intimate. He'd made a mistake.

"Ser Jorah," the queen called after him.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he halted and prayed she was about to forgive him, invite him to stay for wine, tell him she sent his wife away out of jealousy, and that Baylee would remain home in the future. "Khaleesi?"

"Do not come demanding answers of me in such a manner again." Her voice was stern, but not unkind. "She may be your wife, but I am her queen. _Your_ queen, if you haven't forgotten me."

Without a word Jorah stormed back toward his wing, shame hanging over him. He deserved neither the queen nor Lady Mormont.


	3. Brooding

Soft footfalls chased after Jorah as he roamed the palace with his thoughts. Daenerys had dismissed him after he demanded to know why he sent Baylee to Highgarden, and the old bear knew he'd never be able to sit still at home while he stewed.

"Ser!"

He ripped himself from his thoughts. "Missandei? I apologize for-"

The maiden shook her head. "No, I understand, Ser. Are you all right?"

Jorah nodded. "I'll be fine."

He always liked Missandei, even from the day he met her. She cared deeply about Khaleesi and had been with her nearly as long as Jorah had. They'd seen bizarre things and watched as their queen won the war, and felt a kinship over their service.

"I'm so sorry," she sighed. "I knew Lady Mormont was the Highgarden spy. I urged Her Grace to tell you before the wedding." She briefly touched Jorah's cheek. "How unfair to promise you a home and wife to settle down with, only to burden you with this."

"Baylee is no burden," Jorah started.

"Forgive me. That's not what I meant," she quickly corrected herself. "How cruel to gift you with a wife you'll only ever worry about." She frowned. "We both know the rebellion still calls for her head, whispers of her whereabouts."

Jorah's pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. He knew just as well as anyone that the Highgarden spy would be hanged, beaten, raped; any number of things should her identity be discovered. Yet he'd pushed away those thoughts and tried to instead remind himself that Baylee was now safe hiding in plain sight. A knight's wife, nothing more. A spy would never accept such a visible position.

"It must seem uncaring, but there's more to the story," Missandei sighed. "Khaleesi meant no harm. Three days ago she asked Lady Baylee to ride out and learn what she could. The rebellion is growing among Lannister faithful." A sad look settled on her face. "Perhaps that's why your wife told you last night; she wanted you to know before she left?"

His heart thumped into his throat. Memories of flayed men, tortured informants, beaten women, and other terrors by the hands of the Lannisters flashed across his mind. "She has never swung a sword or seen someone raise a hand to her," he breathed. "She'll be killed."

Now Missandei looked uncertain. "Remember the stories from the war, Ser Jorah. She is capable of handling herself, more than any normal lord's wife."

Drunken giggling broke their solemn conversation. A trio of whores flitted down the hallway toward them, each in red and gold. An invisible cloud of perfume preceded them.

"He's _rich_ ," the shortest of them exclaimed. "It doesn't matter what he _looks_ like. You've been with much uglier, I'm sure."

"I've seen him," the taller whore replied. "He's not as bad as the stories make him seen. And he's kind. Aetheyl said so. She's his favorite. She'd know better than any."

"I presume you're looking for Lord Tyrion?" Missandei boldly interrupted them.

Tittering, they nodded.

"You've found him!" Tyrion called from down the hall.

Jorah and Missandei rolled their eyes at each other. The latter smiled. The girls cooed and rushed toward the little Lannister, calling out his name.

Without a conquest or war at hand, Tyrion had fallen back into boozing and whoring. He was still a fine Hand to Daenerys during the day, but boisterous and scandalous during the evening. No one dared try to rein him in, as he'd been invaluable in many ways. _He's earned his spoils,_ Daenerys once defended him to a queensguard.

"Mormont!" Tyrion boomed, slapping Jorah on the ass. "So somber. So _sober._ Wine. Girls. Come along." Before the knight could reply, the dwarf held up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait." He put a finger to his lips, then nodded knowingly. "No girls for you, of course. Lady Mormont is much too fine a specimen to want elsewhere. Wine, though! Come along! Missandei, where is Grey Worm? Bring him. There is not enough revelry in this palace. Our queen is much too serious! For weeks I've begged her to throw a festival for the commoners."

"A festival?" one of the whores repeated. Her charcoal eyes widened as she looked in excitement to her friends, who were also squealing.

A wolfish smile on his face, Tyrion held out his arms like a maestro. "Girls, come, a drink with my friends before more sinister activities."

"Perhaps a night at the pub would do us all well?" Missandei suggested, raising an eyebrow to Jorah.

"No," Jorah answered quickly.

"I think it best this evening in particular," she insisted.

"Yes, come along, Ser Jorah," one of the girls sang out, tracing her finger down his armor.

He swatted her hand away. "All right. A pint of ale. Nothing more."

* * *

Tyrion's girls squealed and spilled, enjoying themselves on a Lannister check.

Jorah sat slouched back in his bar stool, stroking his whiskers and debating whether being alone at home with his thoughts would be worse than being there. Here there was ale. At home there was guilt at wanting Daenerys, guilt at not bothering to know his wife was a revered spy. _Choices, choices._

Next to him, Missandei sipped her wine and laughed at the jokes Tyrion told to impress his whores. The third time she looked to Jorah and gave a look that asked whether he was enjoying himself, he sighed.

"Tell Khaleesi tomorrow morning that I'm sorry, but I had to go after her."

Missandei's dark eyes were wide. "No! You cannot put her in that grave danger. Why would a queensguard come looking after a commoner girl?" She put a hand on his forearm and squeezed. "She will return in two days' time."

"Your lady wife isn't at home awaiting your return?" Tyrion chimed in. He nodded thoughtfully, then motioned toward his girls. "Help yourself. It's on me."

The dark-haired girl smiled at him enthusiastically, but the knight scowled. "No. Baylee's visiting her father, that's all."

Tyrion smiled. "A kind lady, your Baylee." He nodded. "Better than your first girl, what was she, a Hightower?"

"Yes."

"I believe she's the one who is responsible for your exile and subsequent rise to power next to our queen?" Tyrion held up his ale. "To that miserable wretch, the first Lady Mormont. I hope she enjoys every happiness you couldn't afford her."

"Perhaps tonight isn't the-" Missandei tried to diffuse the situation.

Jorah couldn't have been further from wanting to trade jests. "And wasn't it you who told me your father bedded your favorite whore turned paramour before you killed her?"

The giggling trickled to an awkward stop and the whores glanced at each other anxiously.

"Yes, yes," Tyrion hissed. "That was me." A dark look passed his face. "We shall reconvene tomorrow evening, ladies. I'm suddenly no longer in the mood for company." He watched stoically as the girls quickly spilled out of the pub, casting frightened glances over their shoulders at him. Turning his attention back to Jorah, he quipped, "Hardly something to win hearts and minds."

"But certainly called for after your toast," Missandei chided. "Now we'll have no more between the two of you." She raised an eyebrow in each of their directions. "Enough."

Jorah sat his drink down and stared into the glass. "Do you know what it's like to love a woman who you don't deserve, who certainly doesn't feel the same?"

Tyrion shook his head. "I – I don't believe so. But it sounds like you do?"

 _It could be any three of them,_ Jorah realized with a hollow laugh. _His Baylee, Lynesse, even Khaleesi._

"Well," Missandei chimed in. "It is a big day tomorrow with Lady Sansa Stark coming to court."

Tyrion drained his drink.

"I think it best we all retire for the evening." The woman stood, finished Jorah's drink for him, and smiled. "I'll find you both in the morning in better spirits, I hope."

* * *

The bed was sweaty and much too warm, even though he alone occupied it. Jorah rolled over and kicked off the sheet in frustration. He'd never sleep so long as his wife was spying on a rebellion at his queen's command.

 _Who do you lie next to?_ Jorah thought in dismay. _Who are you seducing in an attempt to learn secrets?_ Now two of his wives were spending this night with men that weren't him. _A fitting fate_ , he figured, _for my failure, betrayal, and loving the dragon queen too much._

When the sun finally rose, he didn't lament his lack of sleep, but was thankful for the hustle and bustle of the day to command his attention.

"Jorah, join me for dinner this evening," Daenerys offered as the small counsel disbanded following a meeting. She smiled kindly. "I imagine you're lonely for company. And it's my doing, after all."

"Not at all, Your Grace," he replied. This was the queen's apology, Jorah knew. "Won't Lady Sansa be joining you?" The Stark party wasn't arriving until the afternoon, but he couldn't help be slightly nervous at it. Eddard Stark had wanted his head. Hopefully his daughter didn't hold a grudge. Besides, as Daenerys' general, he was untouchable now, or so he hoped.

"Change of plans. They won't arrive until tomorrow. So you'll join me, then?" When he nodded, she beamed. "Good. I have missed my bear," Khaleesi replied warmly. "I shall look forward to it."

As she turned and walked away, Jorah thought nothing of it, and had no idea what the queen had in store.


	4. Old Habits

"My bear," Khaleesi greeted him as Jorah arrived to her chambers for dinner. "You look exhausted." She had changed from her formal wear into another silk gown that reminded Jorah of their days across the Narrow Sea. Its deep purple hue made her eyes look violet and unnatural. A smile came to her lips when she noticed him staring.

"Only worried after Baylee," he replied, quickly bowing his head to the queen. He took his seat across from Daenerys and took a long drink of wine.

"How is she?" Daenerys asked, looking up at him over her own drink. "As your wife, I mean. I don't believe I ever asked. Are you happy?"

"Yes, Khaleesi. She is wise and kind," Jorah replied. "Far too good for me. I feel bad for her some days. She's young and beautiful. I'm an old worn-out knight. Boring, probably." He smiled weakly.

"Don't be so dismissive of yourself," Daenerys cooed. "You have been my strength and friend through many years, Ser." She raised her glass to him and drank the rest of its contents.

The kitchen staff brought in more food than ten men could have eaten; the feast had already been prepared when word came that the Starks wouldn't be arriving until the next day.

"Where is Missandei, Tyrion?" Jorah asked. "They could join us. There's-"

"They're out." The queen smiled coyly. "The servants will have their fill, as well – they've kept half for themselves. I'm afraid you and I will be quite satisfied by the end of the night."

The conversation was pleasant and easy as they ate. Exhaustion and angst regarding his wife's spying mission left Jorah's stomach uninterested in food, but the fine fruits and pastries charmed him enough. He unceremoniously tore a leg from the roast bird on the table and ripped a chunk off with his teeth.

"Do you miss little things like this?" Daenerys suddenly asked.

Jorah looked up and realized she'd been watching him. He hastily wiped the grease from his lips. "What do you mean?"

"Eating together. No staff, no palace guards. Just the two of us without a thousand eyes everywhere. You were always enough to protect me by yourself for years. I miss eating stale bread on some dusty cliff, watching the sun fall behind the horizon." She finished her wine and poured another.

"I could leave the stale bread," Jorah joked.

"The rest, though? Like this! I'm perfectly capable of refilling my own glass. I don't see why I need a cup bearer. So many people about all the time."

The queen rarely drank, and Jorah had already counted several glasses of wine. He laughed. "Khaleesi, Dornish wine is stronger than you might think. _That_ is why you have cup bearers."

She waved her hand at him, rolling her eyes. "Please. I conquered Westeros, but you think I cannot hold my wine? I'd be perfectly capable of ruling the seven kingdoms with none but you by my side."

"We had more help when you took it," he countered her. "And a queen cannot rule alone. Our allies, your palace staff? They're a part of it whether you like it or not." He ate another pastry, hoping she'd move on to another topic.

"You're right," the queen nodded. "Though it's strange to get used to the world having expanded so massively in no time at all. Guards. A court. Lords and ladies. And you! I'm not accustomed to sharing you, Ser Jorah. I used to have you all to myself out in the wilderness." She popped a small berry into her mouth. "The other evening when you dared raise your voice to me in my own chambers? Well," she raised an eyebrow. "I see you must truly love your wife. Never before have I had competition for your affection. I can't say I liked the feeling."

Something new was burning in her; something Jorah had not seen. It startled him and he sat back in his chair, uncertain whether he should stay or dismiss himself. _In another time. Another place._

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys offered. Her words slurred just slightly; none but Jorah would ever be able to detect it. "How many times have you professed your feelings for me? And how many times did I ignore those confessions?" She tilted her head and offered a sultry smile. "My old bear. I only took you for granted because I knew you would never leave me. But now you have!"

"I vowed to serve you. I do, Khaleesi. I will until I die."

Daenerys leaned forward, her chin on her hand. "Do you love me still, Ser Jorah?" Her food was long forgotten.

" _Khaleesi,"_ Jorah warned, his velvety voice suddenly raspy and harsh. _She is drunk. These words are empty. Your love has never been a concern of hers before._

"When we met, I was just a girl. Do you remember? I remember the first time I saw you." The queen poured another glass of wine and ignored Jorah when he signaled that she shouldn't. "I was with Viserys at my wedding to Drogo." She took a long drink, delicately wiped her lips, then smiled. "You were the first knight I ever saw."

"I remember," Jorah nodded. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. His tongue felt like it had swollen to three times the regular size and the wine wasn't helping with how dry his mouth was. _She's drunk,_ he reminded himself. _That's all. Nothing more._

"When I woke after that _witch_ killed my sun and stars and my son, it was you who had saved me. And how many other times did you save me? And my dragons – my _children_ \- adore you." Now her eyes scanned down his neck and chest. "My bear. You have always protected me and I have given you nothing in return."

"You've given me everything," he replied in a murmur.

She rose from her chair and reached for his hand. "Come, Ser Jorah. There's something I want to show you."

"Khaleesi?" His heart pumped harder and faster.

Her hand still extended and a girlish excitement on her face, she nodded. "I want you to be the first to know."

Hesitantly, Jorah stood. He stared at the queen's hand. For the first time in a long time, he was nervous. Every time he offered his hand to Daenerys, she took it, blindly trusting him to lead her to safety, to salvation, to the Iron Throne. Yet he couldn't reach out and take hers.

Tired of his indecision, Daenerys snatched his wrist and pulled him along, deeper into her chambers. Jorah let out of small breath of relief as they passed the bedroom and instead headed to the balcony.

"They were a gift. Former slaves from Qarth traveled here to deliver them," she explained, her voice high in volume and pitch. "A man and a woman. They're lovers now, and married. She was large with child, but still they traveled here upon finding them in a market because they thought it that important."

On the balcony, a basket of blankets and cushions sat atop a table. Daenerys urged him forward. "Go see!"

Jorah uncovered the contents. A pair of scaly stones caught the evening sunset and seemed to glow. Navy blue, they sparkled flecks of purple and green. "Dragon eggs?" he exclaimed.

"Petrified, the same state as my children's." The queen was beaming and bouncing on her toes. "Twins. The same color, but different than their older brothers."

He ran a hand over the eggs in wonder. _How many more are out there?_ He turned to the queen, but all at once, she was in his arms. Jorah stepped backward in utter surprise, but Daenerys moved with him and pinned him against the table. Her silk dress slid against his tunic as she reached and laced her hands around his neck. Before he could react, she'd stretched upward and mashed her lips against his. The kiss was everything he had ever imagined. Her lips were soft and plump even as she moved them passionately, hungrily. But after years of wanting nothing else but this, Jorah stepped away from her. _Baylee_ , he thought in distress.

"Come," Daenerys commanded him, completely unbothered. Her grip was firm as she pulled him into her chambers to her bed.

The deep amethyst pillows and sheets on the massive mattress looked like a pool that would swallow them alive. _None dare say no to Daenerys Targaryen._ Jorah's thoughts spiraled, churning out likely scenarios. Denying _her will be the end of my position beside her. Then what? A sellsword again? I'll lose Baylee like I lost Lynesse._

The queen turned and reached to pull him into the bed. Fleeting panic made his heart skip a beat. _You cannot deny her. You cannot take her to bed._ Either choice would ruin him. Instead of falling onto the covers with her, Jorah lifted her into his arms. This time, he initiated the kiss; gently, carefully. _What next?_ something in Jorah barked. _Choose carefully. You'll ruin her honor, your honor, Baylee's. You cannot deny Daenerys Targaryen, but you cannot give her what she wants._

Eagerly reciprocating the kiss, Daenerys wrapped her legs around his waist and wove her fingers in his hair. He moaned softly at her touch. The scent of her had never been this clear and the dragon queen was allegedly a wild lover, and hadn't he fantasized about her for years? Spending years of his life mere inches from her was torture, and perhaps it was about to pay off. He loved her, truly loved her, and that's more than he could assume about any of her other lovers.

One of his hands held fast against the small of her back. The other wandered to her ass and squeezed. Laughter rumbled in her throat.

"You've bested every man you've fought, but I am no man," she warned playfully. "I am a dragon."

"A queen," Jorah murmured against her lips. It was obvious from the day he saw her in person. Daenerys Targaryen was born a queen. _And now she's in my arms._ Excitement began to simmer, pushing away his trepidation.

Her toes brushed the floor and he set her down. Then her hands were gone from him, too. For a moment disappointment and relief fought valiantly, but both faded away almost instantly. Daenerys pulled at a sash around her neck. Violet fabric flowed off her and puddled on the floor.

 _The unburnt indeed,_ Jorah mused as he beheld her. The deep purple bed stood in stark contrast to her bare white skin. At that moment he could have sworn she was a witch in her own right, holding him speechless and spellbound. Thoughts wouldn't form and Jorah couldn't react when she reached out for him.

"It's not fair I be the only one undressed," Daenerys sneered confidently. In a flash, she'd unlaced and pulled off Jorah's tunic. "Better. For now." She again stood on her toes and stretched to kiss him.

Her breasts pressed against his bare chest and Jorah groaned. " _Khaleesi,"_ he mumbled against her lips.

For someone who ruled thousands, millions of people, she seemed so delicate. Every time he'd seen her in the buff, the same thought crossed his mind. Now that she was under his hands, he realized how wrong he was. Ribs were obvious under perfect parchment skin, but long, lean muscle lie hidden.

When Daenerys gave him a hard shove toward the bed, Jorah inhaled sharply and stood fast to his position. _This is your only chance._

"Enough of this taunting," she playfully commanded, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him more. "You'll have me at last. Enough foreplay. Years of anticipation is enough, is it not?" She reached for his belt, a calm look about her as she did. "I've wondered about you. What did I nearly miss out on? What a foolish girl I was." She whipped the leather from his pants and let it fall to the floor. "And to think I didn't employ the lord's right on your wedding night," she drunkenly giggled.

 _Gods, help me._ "Wait," he exclaimed. "Wait. I cannot."

Daenerys stroked his thigh before taking his erection in her hand. "It seems you can. So fuck me, Ser Jorah." She knelt down and grabbed the top of his pants, but he moved away from her and away from the bed.

 _It was far too much, but we didn't touch the bed,_ Jorah reasoned with himself, trying desperately to ward off the guilt he knew was about to slam into him. _How many men would have bedded the queen? I never did. It was too much, but only as I tried to keep her from the bed._ The image of Baylee's laughing face crossed his mind. He knew he'd done his best, but would his wife understand?

"Jorah? What are you doing?" She sat back on the bed, completely unabashed at her nudity.

"Baylee," Jorah muttered, sighing in shame and closing his eyes. _Please let her understand. Please let her be unoffended._ "Forgive me, Khaleesi. My wife is hours away with Lannister rebels and I vowed to-"

"You said you would always love me," she cut him off, her voice flat.

He nodded and realized his heart was racing. "I did." _Back to being a sellsword when she tosses you out of her service._

"Then why do you shame me like this?" Her cheeks burned red and her queenly disapproval had returned. "Do not pretend that you don't watch me. For years I have smelled the lust about you. If I'd have asked, you would have had me anywhere, at any time. Why not now?" Her tone reminded him of a pouting child.

"I do. I did," Jorah corrected himself. "But Baylee-"

"Is a plain girl I picked for you because you deserve a wife and she a husband." Daenerys snapped. "But you said you'd love _me."_ Her cheeks were flushed red with the wine and her eyes glimmered with wetness.

"I do, Khaleesi," Jorah breathed.

"You cannot love us both," she snapped. Wet tears finally spilled over the rims of her eyelids. "I'll keep her in Highgarden, if that's what it takes. I'll not be outdone by some lowborn Tyrell girl. If she can win your affection, why would the seven kingdoms not be won over by the Lannister faithful?"

"Khaleesi, we drank a lot of wine and-"

"Leave me." Her voice was low and dark and Jorah didn't even stoop to retrieve his tunic before obeying.


	5. Northern Women

Lady Baylee had been gone two nights.

"Ser Jorah," Missandei consoled him as Daenerys greeted the Starks on the third day. "Your wife will be returning at any time. Perhaps she is taking extra time with her family. You remember the stories. She'll handle herself and come home to you." There was hope and faith in her face, and Jorah wished he shared her optimism.

Jorah nodded. "Of course." Her words did nothing to ease the feeling of unrest in his chest.

Missandei smiled and bowed her head slightly as the party moved toward them.

"Ser Jorah," the red-haired lady of the North greeted him warmly, embracing him lightly as if he were her father. A fellow northerner, she felt a fondness for the man despite the hatred Ned Stark had held for him.

"Lady Stark," he bowed his head. "Is the king well?"

"Quite," Sansa smiled. "Where is Lady Baylee? I have so much I want to tell her. It's been too long." Excitement glimmered through her serious northern facade. Baylee was the lady sister Sansa had always longed for.

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. "I'm afraid she'd in Highgarden visiting her father. She'll return this week and be delighted to catch up, I'm sure. She speaks very fondly of you."

"I haven't seen her since the wedding," Sansa sighed. A sly smile came to her lips. "Might there be something to congratulate the both of you on by now?"

"No, no," Jorah laughed. "Bear Island has its lady and I have no need for an heir. Baylee has never expressed a desire for chilren."

Sansa smirked. "We'll see about that."

Behind the redheaded lady, the Dragon Queen was glaring at Jorah with absolute hatred. The room seemed to chill around him. Forcing his attention back to Sansa, he smiled at the comment he'd just made and carried on with the polite conversation.

"Ser Jorah, might I have a word?" Daenerys called as the group began to dismiss.

Heaving a sigh, Jorah nodded. "Of course, Khaleesi."

" _Khaleesi?_ " Sansa repeated. "Isn't that a Dothraki title?" She smiled knowingly. "That's very fierce, Your Grace."

Daenerys offered a lukewarm smile. "I suppose it is. Ser Jorah is the only one who refuses to call me by my real titles."

"I knew her as a princess, then a khaleesi," Jorah explained. "It stuck."

"I shall see you at dinner," Sansa smiled as she slipped away.

Watching her go, Daenerys chewed at the inside of her lip. It was an anxious habit she had that Jorah doubted she even realized. She turned her attention back to him; slowly, carefully. The expression she wore was calculated and very guarded. Jorah felt like a foreign dignitary instead of her oldest ally.

"I wish to apologize for my behavior last night," she said coolly. "You were right. The Dornish wine was strong. I put you in an awkward situation. That wasn't proper." She stared at him, unblinking, as he shifted his weight and cleared his throat. There was something missing from her voice. It lacked embarrassment, shame, sincerity.

"It is forgotten, Khaleesi," he replied. "These things happen." Relief loosened his taut muscles somewhat. _Now if Baylee walked through the door, I'd be cured completely,_ he thought hopefully.

"Though I regret my passions, I told no lies, Ser."

Jorah looked back to the queen in confusion. "I, Your Grace?"

She turned to leave, but replied over her shoulder, "You used to be mine alone. It saddens me to share you." With that, she strolled from the throne room.

* * *

That evening, a cheery voice floated through his chambers as soon as he opened the door.

"My lord, is that you? Would you lace this gown? I've fussed with it for some time. Sansa Stark sent it from the North and I wanted to wear it tonight when I saw her. Presuming the queen will have me at the feast, as well, that is?"

The bracer he'd pulled off fell to the floor.

"Baylee," he called, his voice cracking uncharacteristically. He rushed to the bedroom and swept her into his arms; lifting her into the air and kissing her as he had never done. Their relationship was a physical one, but had lacked true romantic passion until that moment. The scent of her hair washed over him and so did relief.

Khaleesi had tasted foreign and kissed in an unfamiliar way. Baylee felt like home. _Home,_ Jorah mused as his wife returned his affection. _Never thought I'd have a home again._

Baylee giggled, then pulled away, breathless and blushing. The unlaced dress only covered her where she held it against her body. "Or perhaps the dress can wait?"

"You left." Jorah sat at the foot of the bed and stared at her. "You didn't say you'd be leaving. You never said you were working with Daenerys still _._ Why didn't you tell me?" There was no malice in his voice, only hurt and curiosity.

She tutted and sat next to him. "I needed to ease you into the truth. She suggested I not tell you of my assistance to her, but I always wanted you to know. I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry for that, but I never lied."

"You're the Highgarden spy _."_ He leaned forward on his knees, his armor uncomfortable but forgotten. There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask her and he worried that he'd forget them. "Spying during wartime is one thing, but during times of peace it's even more dangerous." He took her hand. "Are you all right? Did you run into any-"

"I had a command from my queen, who I swore to serve," Baylee interrupted. "I thought you would be proud of me." Her nonchalance wavered somewhat.

Jorah frowned and looked down at her hand; so smooth and perfect in his rough, calloused one. "I am proud of you. You don't need to put yourself in danger to prove anything to me." He shook his head. "You cannot ride off to Highgarden without so much as a word." His anger had ebbed and flowed for the past few days, but now he worked to keep it at bay. As a result, his voice was soft. "You are my wife now, not a spy. Khaleesi has dozens, hundreds of others. I would have accompanied you. I would have-"

"Gone in my stead and drawn far too much attention," Baylee finished with a smirk. "I'm not a damsel, not a naive girl. I'm the best chance she has at gaining information from that area." She cleared her throat. "After dinner I imagine the queen will want a full report. You'll hear everything in detail." Then, her cheerfulness returned. "How is your side? Has it been bothering you this week?" Her fingers moved deftly across the straps of his armor as she removed the rest of it.

"I haven't noticed. I've had other things on my mind," Jorah grumbled.

"Oh, do cheer up. I'm home! There's a feast on! Sansa is here!"

"For three days I've wondered after your safety. Missandei thrice had to convince me not to ride after you." He gave her a hard look.

Cackling, she stood, slid the dress off, and placed it over a chair. When she turned back to him, stark naked, Baylee wore a bold smile that endeared him to her more than he thought possible.

"If you're going to be so sullen, I'll just have to cheer you up before we see our friends, aye?" She sashayed back to him seductively. "I've missed you. Take me."

"We'll be late," Jorah suggested, one eyebrow quirked upward in interest. His voice had already softened and returned to its velvety croon.

"Then we shall be late," she relied, pushing him gently back onto the bed.

 _Why must I surround myself with such strong-willed women?_ Jorah thought in half annoyance, half amusement. "Now I understand why members of the kingsguard traditionally weren't allowed wives," he managed.

Baylee rolled her eyes as she pulled off his trousers. "Duty, duty, duty. I'll have you thinking of nothing but _me_ this evening."


	6. Storm Brewing

"Baylee!" Sansa squealed.

Peacetime had done her well, Jorah thought as Lady Stark ran across the hall to embrace his wife. The solemn, glum woman he'd met in Winterfell was now every bit Cat Tully's daughter: bright, sharp, and warm. Bad husbands and wartime horror left her an empty shell of a woman trying to survive before winter fell. Not a year later, she was strong and fierce as her house sigil. It made him proud to be from the north.

Baylee and Sansa strolled arm in arm through the hall, chattering through the past year's events. Jorah followed, more than a head taller than either of them. They'd both seen the lowest of humanity and grandeur of the palaces. None would ever guess the darker memories the women held. In regal gowns with long shining hair, they looked like sisters as they easily moved through the crowd in the hall, unaffected by the high lords and ladies milling around them. Few ladies would have seen the extent of life they had, and that bonded them to one another.

During the feast, Daenerys looked disinterestedly at any food presented to her, music played and a large black direwolf, King, prowled the hall. Sansa brought the beast along. Months ago a pup wandered up to the gates of Winterfell and howled to come inside as if he lived there. Vowing he must have been a relative to her former wolf Lady, Sansa kept him and the wolf rarely left her side.

Baylee and Jorah joined the high table as guests of honor. Though technically off duty, Jorah wore his sword and kept his head on a swivel.

"Ooh, Jorah," Baylee cooed as the wolf rested his head in her lap as she ate. "Look! I've been accepted as a northerner."

Sansa smiled at the wolf and tossed him a piece of roast duck. He snapped it out of the air. "They're quite easy to train, you know."

"Do they fare well in the south?" Baylee asked.

"Perhaps with extensive grooming?" Sansa thought. She tossed King another morsel. "I assume they'd shed their undercoat to stay cool."

From the high seat, Daenerys scowled at the antics of the animal.

"A direwolf," Jorah chuckled. The wolf cocked its head and trotted over to him. He scratched the beast behind the ears. "In all my years in the North, I never saw one."

As Baylee reached out to stroke the wolf, it turned and licked at her fingers. She giggled and reached for her plate to reward the wolf's good behavior. "Oh, I'd love to have one of you."

"Would you?" Jorah asked, surprised.

"Oh, of course," Baylee cooed, not looking up from the animal. "I had dogs and cats, goats, cattle, all sorts of animals as a girl."

Jorah looked to Sansa. "Should you stumble on another pup, send word. I'll bring it home myself. We could certainly train a wolf." He looked to his wife. "Would you agree?"

Baylee turned to him in surprise. "What? Truly?" She kissed his cheek and beamed. "I'll start thinking of names. What would a direwolf like to be called?"

Tyrion passed by on his way back their bench and stopped to pat the wolf as well. "Ah, Lady Baylee wants a wolf? Dragons, wolves, why not? This place could certainly use some excitement. I remember meeting Jon's wolf."

Sansa smiled. "I'm sorry he couldn't come. There were matters for him to take care of back home."

"There always are," Tyrion nodded. "And we have matters, too, unfortunately. Lady Baylee, Her Grace requests your report."

Sure enough, her seat was empty.

"Dinner has just come out," Sansa said hesitantly. "Right now?"

"Now," Tyrion shrugged. "Why? I haven't a clue. Yet she demands the small council meet to hear your report."

* * *

Baylee looked around the table and took a breath. Her husband, Sansa, Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, and Grey Worm looked back at her, eagerly waiting to hear what she'd learned during her half week in her home state.

All the joy of the feast had gone completely. The queen's mood was sour, and her servants felt the tension sure as scalding water.

During the war Baylee's reports had been via encoded raven message. Never had she faced the queen to give her story. Now her mouth was dry as the purple eyes flashed back at her.

Jorah nodded his head slightly at her and offered a calm smile, urging her on.

Baylee took a breath. "We were right. The rebellion is based in Highgarden," she began. "There's a ringleader there, somewhere. I'm not certain who he is, but he's called the Lion. His name is whispered through the pubs, the stables, everywhere. _'Rally behind the lion,' 'hear the lion roar, 'the lion will reign again.'_ "

"Not a real Lannister, obviously," Tyrion scoffed. "They're all dead. How many men?" As sure as he sounded, he looked concerned.

"Dozens," Baylee replied. "Dozens of men and women speaking in the shadows. They're likely those leftover after Highgarden was taken by Jamie Lannister. I didn't recognize any of them as native Highgarden families, nor did my old contacts."

"And the sentiment about the queen?" Missandei asked.

"Those who were sworn to House Tyrell are loyal to the queen," Baylee quickly explained. "Dragon banners fly. Yet the lion chatter is growing louder, more frantic. Something is brewing. Something is coming."

Daenerys nodded, digesting the information. "Is that all?"

Relieved, Baylee nodded.

The queen frowned. "Well, there is more to be learned," she said after a moment of consideration. "I'll have you return to Highgarden. Pose as a whore this time. If you are correct in that these are Lannister men, they won't know who you are. You're young and beautiful and they'll all line up for you. We all know the things men speak in the darkness when he's had a woman."

Baylee's lip twitched, and she opened her mouth to speak, but she quickly set her face back in firm resolve. Speaking out against the queen simply wasn't done. At the same time, Jorah stood abruptly, upsetting a tankard. Beer splattered across the table. Missandei jumped back to avoid getting wet.

"No," he barked.

"Sit down, Ser Jorah." The queen barely looked at him.

"A lady of the court posing as a whore, Your Grace?" Tyrion scoffed. Then he pointed to Mormont. "And _his_ wife? The idea's folly." He tried to catch Jorah's glance, but the knight was glaring at the queen, his nostrils flaring. The Hand sighed. "She's brought us enough information to work with. We'll-"

"No," Daenerys answered coldly. "Lady Mormont is first and foremost a spy, and a good one, at that." She turned to Jorah and snapped, "I said to sit down. Do _not_ defy your queen."

He considered his words before speaking. "I'll not have my wife posing as a whore, or serving as an informant any longer." Jorah looked at Baylee. She gave him a quick nod. He turned back to Daenerys. "I've done it, as you well know, Your Grace. It's dangerous no matter who or where you are and who you're informing on. It's madness. Send another."

"I agree," Sansa cut in. "It's not a smart thought at all, Khaleesi. Why would a Highgarden lady work in a brothel? It's much too suspect. I'll send one of my women. A northern girl completely foreign to Highgarden. That takes care of that." She forced a smile and glanced around the table. "What more have we to discuss? I'd quite like to get back to the dancing."

Daenerys's lip twitched at Sansa's nonchalance. "The south is my domain and -"

"We shall help you defend it from Lannister rebels," Sansa finished for her. She offered a friendly smile.

Still standing, Jorah noticed his fists were clenched. He unfurled his fingers, but never tore his stare from the queen. Now she met his glare and stood.

In a desperate attempt to break the tension, Missandei stood as well. Grey Worm followed suit. "I believe those were the only matters to discuss for now," she said nervously. "Lady Stark's woman will pose in a Highgarden brothel and learn more from the rebels. Can she leave within the week?"

"At once. I'll send a raven," Sansa answered.

"Lady Sansa. Come, my ex wife," Tyrion jested, standing and offering a hand to her. "I'll see you get that dance."

"I'd be delighted," Sansa answered. "Come, Baylee! Your husband owes you a dance, I'm certain." Sansa took her by the arm and quickly escorted her out.

"Jorah," Daenerys said, her voice dripping with venom. "Stay a moment, if you would."

As the room emptied, he remained, dreading anything that was about to happen.

The door had barely swung shut when her lip curled and she snarled. "Do not presume to tell me what I will and won't do," the queen spat. "I told you I don't care if she is your wife or if she is a serving girl. Baylee was mine ever before I gave her to you."

"No disrespect intended, Khaleesi, but-"

"All you've done as of late is show me disrespect!" A pink flush lit up her cheeks. "You forget yourself, Ser. Don't think your place by my side is so solid. There are plenty of others who could advise me."

"I will serve you as ever before, but I cannot allow my wife to do this." Jorah met her stare. "She's no longer a commoner from Highgarden. She's my wife. She will spy for you no longer. Send me in her stead, if you must."

He held his breath was he awaited her response. Her face, usually a mask of indifference during conflict, betrayed her. A quiver of her lip and flutter of her eyelashes told Jorah everything she was so desperately trying to conceal. Without answering, she turned and stormed from the room, her gown swirling out behind her.


	7. If You Can't Stand the Heat

Jorah's relationship with Daenerys had never been clear-cut, sensical, or even healthy. As of late, things had changed even further. In meetings she completely ignored him, when he served as her security escort she sped up and practically ran from place to place ahead of him, and even Grey Worm had asked what had triggered the change in her demeanor toward him.

Sansa Stark tried her best to serve as counselor for the pair, but Daenerys had snapped at her several times to mind to her own household guards and leave the Targaryen knights alone.

"If I might suggest something, Ser," Sansa offered as she strolled back toward her chambers, which were near his. Servants did their best to avoid the pair as they made their way through the palace; Sansa as regal as ever in her silver gown and Jorah in his dragon-adorned armor. "Perhaps a woman's intuition would be helpful to your difficulties with the queen."

"Perhaps it would," Jorah nodded from beside her.

Sansa licked her lips, thought a moment, then hesitated.

The knight smiled. "Please, speak freely, My Lady. You're my wife's closest friend. There's no need to craft your words as if you were addressing a lord."

"You _are_ a lord, Ser Jorah," Sansa scoffed. "I don't know the extent of your relationship with Daenerys, and I apologize to be so bold, but it seems to me she's lonely. You traveled with her for all those years, and now Baylee takes up your time and I'm sure that's quite an adjustment for the Khaleesi."

A smile tugged at Jorah's lips. Sansa had taken to calling the queen _khaleesi_ after she heard him address her by the Dothraki title.

The lady shrugged. "But that's just what I gather as an outsider." She looked up to him. "She acts like a woman scorned."

Jorah considered the notion but didn't dare bring up the queen's drunken advances. "Yet she was wed, had lovers, and never returned my affection in those long years I served her. I don't see why my happiness with Baylee should affect her in any way." His stomach lurched. Images of her looking lustily up at him flashed across his mind and he did his best to swallow them down.

"You don't know what you have until it's gone, I suppose." She rolled her eyes. "But Baylee is very happy to have you, I'll have you know. She adores you. I hope for that kind of marriage, myself."

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "To an old knight who could be your father?"

"To a good man, Ser Jorah." Sansa replied with an exaggerated eye roll. They'd arrived at his chambers. "You know," she said with a smirk on her face. "I suppose I should pardon you."

He wanted to scowl, but smirked back at her. "I've been pardoned by Robert Baratheon and Her Grace, my lady."

"Well, now you've been pardoned by House Stark. Come North with Lady Baylee if you ever need a break from all the delights of court, my lord! We'll get you that dire wolf." She gave his arm a squeeze before turning on her way.

Once inside his chambers, Jorah picked up the aroma of dinner cooking. "My lady, it smells delectable," he called as he began removing his armor. The red dragons on the metal stared up at him as he dropped the pieces on the table by the door. He'd just removed his white cloak when he paused. Despite the incredible smell of dinner, something felt wrong.

"Baylee?"

She didn't answer. Picking up his sword, Jorah patrolled through the house. He wanted to believe everything was fine, but something had his hair on end. When he stepped into the kitchen, the familiar spike of adrenaline lit up his nerves before he even realized what he was seeing.

A half-chopped potato was strewn across a cutting board, forgotten, and a pot was boiling on the stove. The floor was covered with crimson blood and bodies. One was a dead man, red still pouring from a gaping head wound. The other was Baylee, wriggling furiously against a gag and binds at her wrists and ankles. She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and fearful. A purple bruise was already swelling around her eye socket.

A muffled scream against her gag confused him for a moment. When he understood that Baylee was looking past him, he turned.

The light glinted off a dagger in a stranger's hand. It was too late to parry the blow. Jorah ducked out of the way, but not fast enough. The blade buried itself in his shoulder. A jolt shot down his arm and his sword fell from his hand. Jorah was certain it would hurt a hell of a lot in about ten minutes, but for the time being, he was thankful for the adrenaline as it pounded through his limbs.

He turned on the man, a tall, bald Westerosi in a red cloak.

"Gimme the girl," the stranger said cordially in a Flea Bottom accent, wiping his knife off on a towel from the counter. "There need be no more bloodshed. You'll be handsomely compensated. I'm certain the Targaryen girl can find you another young beautiful wife." His dull eyes wandered back to Baylee and he wet his lips. "Believe me, I don' want to kill 'er. Ain' no fun when they're dead and cold."

Jorah snarled and lunged at the man, grabbing fistfuls of his tunic and driving him onto the hot stove top. The pot of boiling sauce splashed everywhere, sizzling violently. The attacker howled in pain. He swung his arms backward, slashing desperately, blinded by the scalding liquid. Grimacing, the knight pressed the rebel's face against the burning surface, not relenting until he smelled burning flesh and the man stopped screaming.

Baylee cried out against her gag.

Jorah let the dead man slink to a pile on the floor. When he was satisfied that no one else remained hidden, he returned and quickly freed her. "Are you hurt?" he asked in a low growl as he tugged the binds away.

"They found me," she sigh, her eyes focused, unseeing, on the dead men still bleeding on the kitchen floor. "I didn't mean to kill him. I kicked him away. He hit his head. Then the other one heard you speaking outside the door and hid."

"Are you hurt?" he repeated, looking her over. He assumed it was the first time his wife had taken a life. She'd likely be caught up in shock if she wasn't heading that way already.

"No, but you are. You're bleeding everywhere. We have to get to a maester." She stumbled to her feet. "Or I can bring him here." She pulled at his good arm. "Come, we have to go."

Jorah waved her away. "These men. They were from Highgarden? Did you recognize them?"

She nodded. "They knew who I am. They found me here." She looked pleadingly to Jorah. "Please, you're hurt." Suddenly her jaw dropped open. "What if the queen-"

His adrenaline still coursing, Jorah's nostrils flared as he spoke. "She'll be safe, surrounded by guards. But we're going to have a word with her."

* * *

"Khaleesi," Jorah boomed as he pushed her chamber doors open.

The queen had been lounging on her bed, reading in a silk robe. A look of surprise passed her face, but it dropped into a hard scowl when Baylee spilled in behind the knight. "What's this about?" she asked, sitting up and ensuring her breasts were covered.

Jorah marched to the bed and paused at the foot, not bowing to kneel or bow. "There are two dead Lannister rebels in my chambers."

She gave a light gasp. "Are there more? Is everyone safe?" Lavender eyes darted about the room.

"As far as I can tell. The city watch has been informed and I put more guards on your room and on Lady Sansa's already." Jorah looked back at Baylee.

Baylee was still fighting off the shock of killing a man. She was staring straight ahead at the queen, forgetting to avert her gaze and kneel. The color had gone from her cheeks, but she promptly shook her head and cleared her throat. "Your Grace," she quickly greeted her.

"They found her," Jorah growled. "Men from Highgarden, Khaleesi. They saw my wife spying for you and _sent assassins after her!"_ His voice had quickly raised to a roar.

Daenerys slid back on the bed, taken aback. "I didn't-"

"If you haven't insisted upon sending her without my consent, this wouldn't have happened," he snapped. Jorah took a step forward and loomed over the bed. The adrenaline had long burned out of his blood and he felt old in a hurry. The stab wound in his shoulder, which he assumed was harmless, throbbed. His old greyscale-scarred skin ached. A pounding erupted in his head, keeping time with his wild thoughts and emotions. "You sent my wife away to punish me, Khaleesi. Now her life is at risk. Do you realize what you've done?"

"Ser Jorah, you're _bleeding_ ," Daenerys exclaimed. "You're hurt! Why haven't you seen a maester?" She slid out of bed and approached him.

He waved her away as Baylee stepped forward, positioning herself slightly in front of Jorah. He glanced between the two women and wondered in a fleeting panic whether Missandei had spoken of the last time he was in the queen's chambers. The queen and lady held the other's gaze for what seemed like an entire minute.

Slightly taken aback, Daenerys finally pursed her lips and offered a curt nod. "Guards!" she called. "Bring a maester for Ser Jorah." Then, turning back to Baylee, she smiled sweetly. "Well, I'm pleased that you're both safe. My lady, you should get rest. You look unwell."

Baylee shook her head. "No, Your Grace. I'm but reflecting on how it feels to end someone's life." She offered a small smile; her swollen left eye shutting completely as she grinned.

Daenerys looked shocked, but Jorah shook his head. "She killed one of the attackers herself. I apologize, Khaleesi, but Baylee should never have been in this danger." Calmer than before, he regretted his outburst. _Again._

"Lady Baylee." Daenerys pressed her fingertips together. "I did not send you to Highgarden to punish anyone," she spoke to the brunette. "You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Baylee replied uncertainly. "Why would you be punishing my lord husband?" She looked to Jorah, who was staring at the floor.

The doors burst open and a maester spilled in. "Ser Jorah, you're wounded?" Upon seeing the blood, he nodded. "I see, I see, I see. Come on, then, off with the rest of that armor."

"See to my wife first," Jorah replied. "She was assaulted and bound and gagged." He cast a sidelong glance at the queen as the maester and his assistants huddled around Baylee.

Daenerys shook her head slowly, one eyebrow arching as she smirked back at him.


	8. Aftermath

The knife had gone in and come out cleanly, but the struggle afterward made a mess of things. Baylee gingerly pulled the skin back from the bloody pool that was her husband's stab wound. Jorah hissed in pain.

Ignoring his discomfort, Baylee worked a metal tool from her medical kit into the wound. Loose, chewed-up tissue fell free. "Good news. No infection," she commented. "And it wouldn't hurt so bad if you would have just let the maester do this."

"Mmmph," Jorah grumbled. "A handmaiden went into labor. She needed them more than I did." As relieved as he was to hear that the greyscale infection wasn't living beneath his skin, it gave him no solace. The stinging pain of the wound only annoyed him half as much as the heavy weight that had settled in his gut.

"Enough," Baylee suddenly snapped. "Enough of this sullen silence! I know this is all my fault. _I know._ I cannot bring the queen's fury upon myself by speaking against her like you do _,_ " she began. "I cannot say no when she commands me to go learn about the rebellion in Highgarden. I swore to serve her. What else would I have done? I had to go. I brought the attack upon myself. Don't be angry with me, and don't be angry with the queen. Nothing like this ever happened during the war. There's no way Daenerys could have known someone would try to kill me."

When he heard her sniffle, Jorah turned to see an angry tear run down her cheek.

"How can you defy the Dragon Queen?" she spat. After a moment, she sighed. "It was all my fault. You said she sent me away to punish you. Why would she do that? What for?"

Jorah's anger crumbled away and was replaced with sympathy. The secret he harbored had burned in his gut for days. Hearing Baylee take the blame for all of it made his lip quiver. His voice grew gravelly and distraught."You've always known that even on our wedding day, I loved Daenerys Targaryen." When Baylee gave no reply but the slight hesitation in her work, Jorah continued. "Well, she knew as much. While you were in Highgarden, she invited me to dine with her. She drank too much. Said she no longer has patience to share my affections with you. She wanted me in bed. Commanded it of me."

The metal tool clattered against the tile floor. Baylee stooped to pick it up but bumped into the counter, upsetting a bottle of tonic. Her hands and upper lip twitched as she mopped the liquid up. When she finally spoke, her voice broke and cracked somewhere between sorrow and rage. "You are a good husband, Ser Jorah, and that's much more than most women get. I have a home in the palace, fine gowns, a seat at Her Grace's feasts, everything a lowborn girl could want." She set back to her work at cleaning his wound.

He gritted his teeth as alcohol stung the raw tissue.

"You don't beat me or rape me, and I'm thankful enough for that," Baylee continued bitterly. "I understand you loved the queen long before she promised you to me. I've wondered after your relationship, but I had no idea the queen saw _me_ as a threat." A small bark of laughter punctuated the thought. "The Queen will do as she pleases, and as her counselor, you can't deny her." She snorted in anger. "Is _that_ why she sent me away?"

Jorah squirmed slightly as she worked furiously at the wound. "I think so. And I only meant to explain that I know it's hard to defy her. But I did."

"You did what?" Baylee snapped.

"Denied her. Things have changed," Jorah said softly. "Khaleesi is my queen, nothing more _._ "

"But you said she wanted you in bed. You fucked Daenerys, then, didn't you?"

Jorah turned to her. Baylee stood with a medical tool in her hand and his blood smeared thick across her fingers. Amber eyes were challenging him to say another word. It was no secret that he liked strong women, and he appreciated that Baylee, though a commoner, held the same traits as the women rulers he'd known over the years. "No. I did not."

A curious expression set in her eyes.

"I've never laid with her," Jorah confessed. "Not once. But I still dishonored you, and I'm sorry." He looked down at his own hands. "A year ago I've have willingly fallen into bed with her. But I didn't. I kissed her. I held her to keep her at bay. But I let it go no further. I incurred her wrath because of it."

"Oh," his wife replied lamely. "This will sting." The piercing pain of the needle made him jump. "Sorry," she quickly added in a half-hearted manner. "I guess the songs _did_ all speak of your love for her, and her love for Dario." She seemed to have recovered from her shock and was again the headstrong, laid-back woman he'd come to love.

A particularly rough needle tug made him grunt in pain. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "As she kissed me I thought of you, hoping you were listening to conversations in shadows, not seducing details out of a young handsome man. I worried after your safety, and for good reason!" He turned back to face her once more. "I'm sorry."

 _"Done,"_ Baylee announced. The needle clinked in the small pan and Jorah relaxed. "My safety," she scoffed. She narrowed her eyes and posted her hands on her hips. Blood soaked into her dress. "I had completely accepted the fact that I shared my lord husband with the queen. But to have her send me away to bed you? I much prefer she act like every other ruler before her and take what she wants with everyone knowing it. How many bastards did King Robert have? Why should a queen not be able to bed who she wants? I'm just mad she pretends I know nothing of it."

Jorah looked at her in disbelief. "You should be mad that she put your life in danger," he replied in disbelief. "The damage is already done. I'm training you with a blade. You'll need to defend yourself if I'm not here." He rotated his shoulder back and forth, testing out the stitches. It would have to do. "We'll start tomorrow morning."

Baylee nodded and cleaned up the medical kit. "Fine." She blinked a few times, stretched, and sighed. "What a day it's been." She leaned on the door frame, obviously still irritated, though it didn't seem to be at him.

He meant to pass her, but paused. Slowly he brought his hand up to brush a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her braids back from her temple. "Daenerys is a good, fair queen. I've been by her for years." He traced her jaw. "But believe me when I say things have changed."

A small smile reluctantly lit her expression. "Now you're buttering me up. I've already told you you're a good husband. You're a good man, as well." Baylee cupped his face in her hands. "I'd trade you for none younger, or taller, or fairer. As long as you treat me well and love-"

Outside, a massive crack of thunder exploded across the sky. A smile spread across Baylee's lips and she turned for the balcony. "Oh, a storm, finally. It never storms here! It's like home. I've wanted a good storm."

Jorah watched as she eagerly pushed the doors open, raced outside, and leaned on the stone railing, her face cast skyward. "You'll be soaked," he called after her.

"I need to wash the blood out of this dress, anyway."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Jorah remained inside. He finally stripped off the last of his armor and put it by the door. The stab wound in his shoulder smarted. In search of rum, he returned to the kitchen. The normalcy of the room surprised him. Two men lost their lives there just hours before, but now it looked like any old kitchen. While he'd left to speak to Daenerys, servants scrubbed the floor, counters, and oven clean and removed the bodies. Not a trace of blood remained. Still, he doubted whether Baylee would want to cook there any time soon.

Rum in hand, he walked back to the balcony doors. A storm had indeed blown in and rain was starting to fall. "Come inside. I need a drink. You could, too, I'd wager."

Lightning struck the ground or an unfortunate building nearby and thunder ripped across the air once again. Baylee laughed in surprise. Rain drops fell harder. Sheets of rain slapped the ground around her. Seconds later when she was thoroughly soaked, she dashed inside, slipping and catching herself against Jorah, laughing all the while.

"Does it hurt badly?" she asked.

Goosebumps rose over Jorah's skin as Baylee's fingers trailed down his ribs. "Some. I'm all right." Though they'd been wed for over a year, Jorah still felt obligated to put on a show for her. If he could portray himself as strong and unaffected by aches and pains, perhaps she'd feel better about being married to an old man.

It seemed to work. Baylee smirked up at him. "Then come help me take this wet dress off."


	9. Dirt

**A/N: Just a little drabble for fun. (:**  
 **The Jorah adoration is real after this week's episode. Damn.**

Rain slapped against the windows.

With an early training session on for the next day, Jorah knew he should sleep. He just couldn't bring himself to.

Fast asleep beside him, Lady Baylee Mormont stretched out in bed, her muscular legs moving over the sheets. Her tousled hair dragged over his arm and tickled his side as she rested her head against his bare chest. Slow breaths warmed his skin. The purple swelling around her eye made her no less beautiful.

Chills spread over Jorah's arms at the sensation and at the memory of the evening. They'd spent the stormy night fiercely making love, soaking wet and laughing with the thunder. Jorah mounted her Dothraki style; she cried out and shook and laughed before rolling over and demanding more.

Now he arched his neck and kissed her forehead. His stitches screamed in pain and his raw skin ached, but he paid the nagging wounds no heed.

 _How things change._ Five, ten, twenty years ago, Jorah Mormont would have never imagined up a wife such as Baylee. She was different than the queen, than his first wife, in every way. _Father would have loved you,_ he thought was he brushed a wild curl back from her face.

Though she was as fierce as Daenerys, Baylee cared not for power or pride. She and Sansa Stark, of the same build and height, exchanged dresses and wore each others' hand-me-downs, even to court functions. That amused him to no end.

She was boisterous and mischievous, dutiful yet independent. And most of all, Baylee loved him.

Daenerys loved him like a father or protector, and now like a jealous girl having to share her plaything for the first time. Her face easily conjured itself in his mind. For years she'd been his closest companion; his only desire and love. Perhaps he still did love her, in a mystified way. The woman walked onto a funeral pyre and marched out of the ashes with dragons. She burned down a temple of khals and emerged from the flames, strengthened again. To know her was to _at least_ be in awe of her. She _still_ didn't seem real to him most days; more like a fairy tale unfolding before his eyes. From a khalesaar to the Iron Throne, none of it made sense.

There was no question that he'd still die for her. Live for her. Fight for her. Counsel her. Knowing her was certainly enough. Serving her was an honor. Loving her was too much, he accepted over time. And that was okay.

It was harder to recall the exact details of Lynesse's face. The former Lady of Bear Island and his lady wife had been long gone from his life. In Essos even as he served his queen, Jorah wondered with apprehension whether he would cross paths with her; if he would _recognize_ her.

The memories of his youth came rushing back. Her long golden hair and large blue eye won his heart after winning the tourney of Lannisport. Jamie Lannister flew comically from his horse during their joust, and how the crowd cheered. The beautiful woman watching with her sisters and father had stolen his attention earlier in the day. Every block and blow he delivered was to impress her. It worked – on her father, at least. He merrily accepted Jorah's proposal of marriage, and Lynesse came North with him.

Bear Island was not for her. Had he spoken a word to her before bringing her home, Jorah would have known that. There was nothing about him or his home that enchanted her, save for his money. Lynesse never shared his bed, but demanded fine statues in the garden and gold gilded dishes that would befit a queen.

 _I thought I loved her,_ Jorah thought in disbelief. But he had been young and naive and equated lust with love. For a moment he rued throwing his life away and turning to selling poachers to give her the lavish life she wanted. But thanks to Lynesse and Daenerys, now Baylee was his wife, and a fine one at that. Certainly more than he thought he deserved.

* * *

Baylee landed in the dirt with a _thud_. Dust whirred up and further covered the old dress she wore and settled like fine snow in her dark hair. Bruises were surely blossoming on her thighs and she'd likely bite her lip or come by another minor injury by the time the morning was over, but Jorah considered the alternative and decided to carry on.

"Again," he barked.

Gasping for breath, Baylee stumbled back to her feet and raised her sparring sword higher. The night before she eagerly accepted Jorah's insistence that she learn how to defend herself in case of another attack. Now she was seeing a new side to her husband. Ser Jorah was her loving, doting husband, always willing to go out of his way for her, always ready with a kind word or gesture. The man before her now was Jorah the warrior. Jorah the knight. Jorah, who had killed White Walkers, wights, and dozens of enemies who meant to spill his blood first. Jorah, who would be damned if someone cut down his beloved wife.

A mix of guilt and satisfaction filled Jorah as he continually knocked her down and shoved her about. Dirt caked her sweaty face. Her breasts heaved up and down as she panted. Still, she did not whine or ask for mercy. She was a fit woman, but had never been put to such a physical weight of the blade grew substantially as their lesson pushed on and her shoulders drooped. Yet a determination burned in her eyes and she did not complain. Jorah had high hope that with some instruction, Baylee would be able to hold her own against an intruder or another assassination attempt.

"Engage me," he commanded.

"Oh, I'd like to engage you right now," Baylee replied seductively as she fought to regain her breath. Amber eyes flickered up to hold his gaze. "I quite like you tossing me around." She grinned. "Perhaps more of that this evening?"

Jorah shook his head and replied with a lopsided grin. "Engage me," he repeated, struggling to ignore the tempting thought of sparring with her in the bedroom. She'd been distracting him with lewd comments and pleasant brushes whenever an opportunity presented itself. "You're already years behind your would-be killers. Train harder, my lady."

Baylee nodded and thought for a moment before swinging the sword strategically toward him.

Jorah easily parried and knocked her blade from her hand. The tip of his blade came inches from her throat. "You're dead. Again."

She snatched the sword from the dirt and exploded upward. The blunted blades rang out as they collided. With a mighty grunt, Baylee knocked her husband's blade out of the way and slashed at him. Using her momentum against her, Jorah easily knocked her off of her feet.

"Gods," she gasped from the dirt, desperately sucking in breath.

"There are men bigger than me who will have orders to bring back your head," Jorah replied. "I'm going easy on you."

Her exhaustion made her sloppy. This time it only took seconds for Jorah to catch her in the back of the knees and send her face-first into the dirt.

"And what is going on here?" a voice came from the stairs.

Jorah recognized the voice as Sansa's. "Just a lesson in combat, nothing more sinister, Lady Stark." When he turned to face her, the Lady of Winterfell nodded in approval. "Good," she replied.

The broad side of Baylee's blade whapped across his back. Jorah grunted in pain, then spun on her.

"I saw the opportunity and I took it," she panted. A proud smile tugged at her lips.

In a swift swing of his arm and a clash of steel, Baylee's sword went flying across the yard. She gasped and looked after it, then frowned to find Jorah's sword at her throat again.

"Dead," he stated once more. " _Again._ "

"I'm glad you're learning," Sansa called out. "I heard about last night. Are you well? I wish you'd have told me. I'd have come."

"Just a black eye," Baylee replied. Though her eye had swollen shut overnight, she was in good spirits. She turned back to Jorah, determination on her face.

He gave her a little leeway. She immediately noticed and went on the offensive. "Good!" he coached her. "Don't put so much weight on your front foot."

"You remind me of Arya," Sansa laughed. "Have fun. I'll come by this afternoon still, if you're up to it."

"Of course, if I haven't been killed by my lord husband." Baylee laughed. "I'm afraid he'll cut me in two one of these times if I'm not quick enough."

Jorah scowled at the remark.

"Only a jest," she added, quickly swooping in and kissing him on the cheek. Then she stepped back the touched the tip of her blade to his abdomen. "Gotcha."

As the morning progressed, Baylee grew more confident, reckless, and hard to predict. She wasn't fighting like a knight, but she wasn't going into battle. Her wild swings and jabs would confuse any attacker; battle trained or not. Jorah was proud. She'd even nearly caught him in the groin once, and he'd laughed heartily after his heart stopped pounding. _At least she has good form,_ Jorah thought to himself in half astonishment, half exasperation.

Though she could only see out of one eye and his shoulder screamed against the stitches, they didn't let up. Jorah went easy on her, but threw in a real-time move every now and then to keep her on her toes. Soon Baylee was spending less time in the dirt. As rounds grew longer, she stepped quickly away from a jab and ducked a slash. "At our wedding your told me you didn't dance," she joked. "Now look at us."

Finally she caught his blade before it could touch her, and she pressed the crossed swords back toward him.

"Very good," he rasped.

"I'm a good student."

"Ready for your next lesson?"

She nodded. "If there's anything more you can teach me," she laughed. "It seems I've got you right where I want you. Well, for now." She winked.

"Next lesson: don't gloat." Jorah pulled his sword away with unbelievable speed. Sparks flew as the metals scraped together. Balance toppled, Baylee stumbled forward and crashed into him. She laughed aloud as he picked her up and threw her over his good shoulder. "And now your attacker has knocked you out and is going to take you away to do unspeakable things. Never let your guard down."

She squirmed on his shoulder. "Is that my punishment, my lord?" Her voice was sultry and he know it well. "May as well make this training as realistic as possible." She nipped at his neck. "Carry me off. Do what you will with me."

"As my lady commands," he replied, sheathing his sword and carrying her back to the palace, Baylee laughing wickedly all the while.

From a balcony above the courtyard, Queen Daenerys watched, glowering down at the pair until they disappeared inside.


	10. A Night Out

Baylee was sitting cross-legged on the floor when Jorah entered their chambers. Kneeling behind her, Sansa was wearing a scowl as she tugged at his wife's hair. The top half was set in intricate braids. The rest was a tangled mess.

"Ladies," he greeted them with a bow.

"Please, Ser Jorah," Sansa scoffed as she focused on a section of Baylee's thick curls. "Not in your own home. Sansa is fine. I'm just a guest. A _friend._ "

"And the Lady of Winterfell and the king's sister," Jorah added.

He was relieved Sansa was in the capital. Her presence was certainly helping distract Baylee from the notion that Lannister rebels had her name and face and were likely going to strike out again. _Besides,_ he thought in bemusement, _I cannot braid half as well as Sansa._ "Are you going out this evening? You both look lovely," he asked as he hung his sword by the door.

"We are," Sansa replied as she wove another strand of hair behind and then around the first one. "Jon is arriving tomorrow. You know that, of course," she added lamely. "All our affairs are in order, but I'm sure he'll have a dozen things I simply _must_ do for him while he's here. Everyone knows how sullen he gets when things aren't how he thinks they should be." She tugged another strand of hair into place, surveyed her work, and continued braiding. "So tonight I thought we would go out for fun. No business, no lords. Just lemon cakes and summerwine."

Baylee laughed. "You and your lemon cakes! Gods, how you stay so trim, I'll never know. It must be the northerner in you. He's the same way." She grinned at her husband. "You'd never think he has such an appetite for sweets. Thank the gods I enjoy baking."

Sansa laughed. "Lemon cakes and berry tarts. Arya used to make fun of me too, then she went and married the baker." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, we'll be so tied up the rest of the week, tonight will be fun."

"Enjoy yourselves," Jorah smiled. "I'm afraid you're right. You won't be seeing much of me during this festival. The khaleesi and King Jon aren't concerned about security, but that's why _I'm_ the commander of the city watch."

Their nonchalant attitudes had truly disturbed Jorah, but Daenerys admitted that he knew better than either of them. Though the city watch would be assisted by the Stark and Snow men, Jorah was nervous. If the Lannister faithful had gathered their strength and wanted to strike, this would be the perfect opportunity.

The Festival of the Narrow Sea was set to take place the rest of the week. Dothraki, Braavosi, Pentosi, and a dozen other cultures would be highlighted for the Westeros men and women. The queen dreamed the idea up months ago, hoping it would become an annual event to unite the world she had come to know so well. Jon had agreed, lamenting over the coin and manpower it would take to pull off such an event.

Daenerys ignored his complaints and said returns of the countrymen's happiness couldn't be measured in coin. " _I'm not Cersei Lannister. She and her brother are dead because they didn't understand the people. The people need a break from the dreariness of life."_  
"Ser Jorah," Sansa suggested with a smirk as soon as she'd finished Baylee's hair, "you seem to have the impression that you'll be staying home this evening. I should think two ladies would need a handsome knight to escort them about town."

Jorah smiled. "I will, if you like." Though he'd assumed Sansa's household guard would have attended them, he was pleased to be asked. With Baylee on edge and wanted for informing, Jorah was more than relieved to go.

" _Excellent,_ " Sansa replied, beaming up at him. "You'll quite enjoy the night, I think, Ser."

* * *

Dinner and a visit to an alehouse later, Baylee and Sansa stumbled arm-in-arm down the street, tittering and squealing as if they were teenagers. Jorah strolled along behind them, pleased to see the women enjoying themselves. After so many formal feasts and regal events as of late with the Stark party in the palace, the three all craved cool air and the freedom to wander where they pleased.

"Up ahead," Baylee called. "There's the next stop! Just on the other side of this hill. It's a great pub."

"The last stop," Jorah replied. "It's late, my lady." His eyelids had grown heavy from too much food, too much ale, and not enough sleep. Though he set out with a mind to stay completely alert, the carefree atmosphere the ladies created rubbed off on him.

Baylee looked back at her husband, smiling and drunk, her long flowing dress billowing on the gentle breeze. _A goddess_ , Jorah realized. She looked like a goddess.

As they reached the top of the hill, Sansa _hmmed_ in interest. Moonlight was the only thing that illuminated the street, but down in the city, a band played and a bonfire lit up the town block. She watched for a moment. "A street party? What for? The festivities don't begin until tomorrow, I thought."

"For fun," Baylee replied. "Don't they have street parties in Winterfell?"

"No! It looks fun." Sansa spun back to Jorah, smiling eagerly. "Let's go."

Motioning to his black and red tunic, he shook his head. Though he wore his Mormont bear on a belt, he knew he would be pegged for Daenerys' queensguard immediately. The dragon was the most common sigil in Westeros. "I don't know whether we would be welcome among the commoners, my lady," Jorah cautioned her. "A queensguard is the best way to ruin a party."

"It's dark," Sansa argued. "No one will care who we are. Let's go." She linked her arm through Baylee's and the women continued down the hill. Their laughter echoed off the buildings.

Images of men in red cloaks crossed Jorah's mind, but he pushed them away. Sansa and Baylee would be safe with him. He checked his sword in his belt. The hilt felt like a familiar friend under his fingers. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it.

At the bottom of the hill, people watched as the ladies stumbled into the party.

Jorah kept his hand on his sword. Several men grumbled at his presence, and a few made snide remarks about him lurking after the ladies. Had he been of a compltely clear mind, the knight might have considered defending his honor. Yet it was dark and late, and the queensguards' reputation could use a boost.

Baylee and Sansa spun and danced to the music, their long fancy skirts twirling out around them. A few of the commoners whispered behind their hands and nudged each other to dance with the women. When Sansa plucked an ale mug from a bawdy man and drank it all, they cheered.

Jorah kept his head on a swivel. Alehouses he didn't mind. Though they were filled with men, he could easily position himself against a wall and watch the threats and doors. Here, in the open with people milling all about, he was nervous.

As the band finished one song and started another, Baylee came bounding to him. "Dance with me. You've never danced with me." She took his hands and tugged him toward where dancers bounced about.

"I don't dance, my lady," Jorah apologized. "Never have." He nodded toward the tavern. "I'll have a drink. I'm sure one of these young men would dance with you."

A blacksmith was watching Sansa dance with wide eyes. When she passed by him, she grabbed him by the wrists and the two spun together. Baylee watched with half interest before a pout puckered her lips. "You were a lord and held fancy dances all the time, I'm certain," she challenged.

Though there had never been a masked ball or a ball of any sort on Bear Island, a fond smile spread on Jorah's face. He offered his arm. "All right. I showed you how to use a sword. Show me how to dance.

* * *

When the dancing died down, they headed back toward the palace at Jorah's urging, but stopped at another alehouse at Baylee's request.

They settled into a corner booth. Jorah watched the crowd with great scrutiny. Drunks were loud and careless. Perhaps a rebel would spill a secret loud enough for him to hear.

Baylee was halfway through with her ale when summerwine took hold and lulled Sansa to sleep. Her head tipped back against the booth cushion. Though he was certain the other drinkers would see him as a rich man with a taste for young escorts, Jorah pulled Sansa against him, let her head rest on his shoulder, and drew his cloak around her. None needed to know she was the Lady of Winterfell. Besides, women were easy targets in common alehouses and he worried after her safety should someone see her in such a state. "We've got to get her to bed," Jorah said.

Baylee nodded. "I'll finish this drink, then we shall." She hiccuped. "But that was fun, wasn't it?" Sighing, she leaned on the table and gazed back at him. "You're much too good for the likes of me, don't you think? I haven't done anything worthy of such a good husband."

As he opened his mouth, another voice spoke, sending a chill down his spine.

"You look quite well, Jorah."

The sultry, snobbish tones would stand out anywhere. He took a long breath before looking up to the speaker. "It's been a long time."

A woman with long yellow hair and striking blue eyes smirked down at him. "You do remember me!" She raised an eyebrow at Sansa and Baylee. Perhaps fifteen years separated them. "Here you stand," she mocked his family words, "a whore half your age under each arm. I can't say much though, can I? I'm certain you've heard I've done quite well for myself." As beautiful as she was, her cruel timbre cast an ugly shadow over her.

Baylee squirmed out from under Jorah's arm and leaned forward across the table. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Lady Mormont." She nodded toward Sansa. "And she is my friend. My lord husband is kind enough to escort us for a night out of the palace. Neither of us are whores, but I appreciate your expertise on the subject. Lynesse Hightower," Baylee challenged. "I've heard you're quite good at your craft. _Chief_ concubine for a rich man. How thrilling a life you must live."

Jorah turned in surprise toward his wife. He was certain the theatrics would begin shortly, as they always did with Lynesse, but he hadn't expected Baylee to fire the first arrow.

"Your lord husband?" The woman tossed her head back and laughed. "You know little of this man, _Lady Mormont."_ She smiled falsely back at Jorah. "A fiery thing, isn't she? You've always liked women who boss you around." A cackle punctuated the thought. "Though I'm certain the Dragon Queen just gave her to you to sate your appetite. Even in Essos, the singers speak of the valiant Ser Jorah's undying love for his silver-haired queen."

Baylee's lip twitched.

Jorah spoke quickly, his velvety voice prickled with annoyance. "Why are you here?"

"Why, your queen's festival, of course. I'm the lover of a very important merchant from across the Narrow Sea. Why wouldn't I be here?" She glanced down at Sansa, studying her face as she slept. "Who's so important to have a queensguard attend to her while she drinks?"

Jorah quickly rolled his shoulder so that Sansa's face tucked further into her chest and her hair fell, protecting her identity. "My wife already told you. A friend who had too much wine."

"Ah," Lynesse smirked. "Certainly. For a moment I wondered if this was Catelyn Stark's girl. She looks so like her." Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at Sansa's head. "You wouldn't be that stupid. The Starks have no love for you."

"And no one here has any love for you," Baylee snapped. "Leave us."

Lynesse stepped back, but lingered at the table. "Good luck with that one," Lynesse drawled. After gazing at Jorah for an uncomfortable moment, she sighed. "How you've improved with age."

"You'll need to get back to Tregar Ormollen," Jorah sneered. "I'm certain his bed is cooling."

Lynesse stared at him for a moment. "Well. I'm certain we'll be seeing each other again, my sweet bear."


	11. Dragon's Den

**Author's Note: Your reviews and feedback have been awesome. I'll do my best to keep cranking out updates. 3 I know the feeling of loving a story and realizing the author has forgotten it!  
**

Daenerys studied her small council as they chattered excitedly about the Festival of the Narrow Sea. Sansa, seated comfortably next to Tyrion, sat up straight, poised and ladylike as ever as she politely listened to Ser Davos listing off the ales he was looking forward to trying. Missandei and Grey Worm occupied one bench. He watched her, starry eyed, as she wondered if any Naath vendors or performers would attend. Jorah stood tall behind the queen, giving input on which customs belonged to which cultures. An empty seat sat opposite of Daenerys. Jon Snow was late.

The door creaked open and a squeal broke the conference room conversation. A girl of six spilled in, ignoring calls from a septa chasing after her. She wore a simple dress and a riding cloak. Her leather boots squeaked as she tore across the floor. Daenerys glared, but Jorah strode toward the doorway with a grin on his face.

"Uncle Jorah!" The child squealed in delight, causing the small council members to chuckle.

"Hello, princess." Jorah scooped the girl into his arms.

She looked every bit the offspring of Jon Snow. Her curls were as dark as coffee and her eyes were wide and curious. There was none of her mother in her face. "Father said you saved the queen again!" she declared, both little arms thrown around the knight's neck. "You're the best, strongest knight there ever was. Did you know there are songs about you? A singer came to Winterfell and sang a song and I told him I knew you. I really did! He didn't believe me. One day when I'm queen, will you protect me? _Then_ they'd believe I know you."

Tyrion chuckled. "Princess Lylane. I see you have all the passion for life your mother did."

"Septa says I look like father but am my mother through and through," the girl recited. Her nose wrinkled. "Father says he'll never forget her because I never quit talking and I talk with her voice."

The council chuckled again. Even the queen smiled. Jorah took his place behind Daenerys, Lylane in his arms still. She happily looked down upon the council members. The princess knew them well; she accompanied Jon on all of his trips to the capital. When the king walked in, looking disheveled, the princess called out to him. "Father! I found them. Don't worry. I didn't tell them why we're late."

The table snickered once more.

"Jon Snow," Daenerys greeted him formally as he walked in.

"Your Grace," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I trust Lylane remembered her manners?" His tired indifference insisted that he suspected otherwise.

"She's a willful child," Daenerys replied, glancing back at Jorah. "She shall be a strong ruler some day." She offered the child a smile, and Lylane reciprocated.

"For now she needs to be a lady," Jon warned his daughter, giving her a stern look. "Otherwise you might not outlive me."

"I don't want to be a lady," the girl scoffed. "I'm going to be a warrior queen. I'll ride a dragon like Dany."

Jorah smiled, but said nothing. Missandei giggled behind her hand and Tyrion cleared his throat after seeing the queen's annoyed frown. She _hated_ the name Dany.

Jon sat down heavily and shook his head. "She asks after you lot constantly. I fear she'll leave the North and want to be a ward here."

"Yes! I'll stay here and you can be my teacher," she commanded, tapping Jorah on the shoulder.

"If that's what the princess wants and her father agrees, that's what she'll have," Jorah told her. "It's my job to make princesses happy." Her shrill shriek of joy made his ears prickle, but he laughed anyway.

Danerys nodded curtly to Jon. "I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"It was. I don't make it near enough, but I've been busy. Even with the septa helping with Lylane, there's too much for one man." Jon tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I'm sorry you missed Freya's funeral."

Now the queen offered her own grimace.

The council took a collective breath and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. After the war Jon Snow married Freya Giantsbane, one of the Free Folk and new Night's Watch Lord Commander Tormund's sister. Just a year prior she died in childbirth, along with her babe. Jon named the boy Eddard and had him buried alongside his mother in the Winterfell crypt.

Tyrion stood. "Mormont, maybe the Princess would like to see the flowers in the courtyard. There aren't many roses up north. Besides, these meetings can be so boring. I'll come, too."

"A good idea," Daenerys said, stone faced. "Perhaps we shall meet in private. We'll reconvene later. I believe the festival details are set."

"Come, princess, we'll see Lady Baylee on the way. She'll be pleased to see you." Jorah set Lylane back on her feet, bowed slightly to the king and queen and led the way out.

"I see she has much of her wildling mother in her," he heard Daenerys comment in displeasure before he shut the door behind them.

Tyrion and Jorah exchanged pained glances before hurrying after the princess.

* * *

Lylane swung the wooden sword back and forth in the courtyard, wearing her best battle face. She punctuated her swings and jabs with sound effects.

"Maybe you w _ill_ be a knight some day," Baylee offered. "Has your septa told you about Brienne of Tarth?"

The princess shook her head. "No. But that's a lady name. Was she a knight?"

"She was," Baylee nodded.

From a bench between rose bushes, Tyrion and Jorah watched, both wearing amused smirks.

"I told her to go North for the funeral." Tyrion scratched his beard and sighed. "I _told_ her. I may be her Hand but I am not her. It wasn't enough for just me to go. Jon would have traveled thrice around the world for something that important to Daenerys." He grimaced. "I don't dare imagine what words are flying back and forth in that meeting of theirs. Nothing good."

Jorah nodded. He had stayed with the queen, but heard about how grand the King's wife's funeral had been. For the queen to stay away was surely a slight in every northerner's eye. He thought of Lyanna Mormont and sighed. "Jon seemed to understand. He won't provoke her. He'll listen to her insults and shrug them off, I hope."

"Jon's a good man."

"It's going to be a bad night for Daenerys, no matter how kind the king is." Jorah sighed.

Tyrion made a face and rolled his eyes. "Dragon blood indeed. Shall you attend to her, or would you like me to try and tame the dragon?"

"I'll speak with her," the knight answered. His attention flickered back to the yard.

Baylee and Lylane sat facing each other cross-legged, sharing stories. The girl's eyes were wide and hopeful. As Baylee spoke, Lylane clapped and cheered and excitedly nodded.

"I already know what's troubling her," Jorah continued. "She'll be all right."

"We _all_ already know what's troubling her," the dwarf scoffed. "Her lover is back to visit with another woman's child. She _always_ gets like this when they're about." He watched the princess run off to a rosebush and carefully pluck out the largest flowers. "I hope the girl doesn't notice."

"She won't. Not for a few more years. I mean to mention it to the khaleesi tonight."

* * *

"If it's something that can wait for the morning, I'd come back tomorrow, Lord Commander," a queensguard named Elias warned Jorah as he strode toward Daenerys' chambers.

"It cannot," he replied calmly. "I won't be long."

The moment the door swung open and he stepped in, Daenerys screamed and launched an emerald throw pillow across the room. "Leave me _!"_ Without turning to see who had entered, she threw herself back onto the bed face down.

Frowning, Jorah confirmed his suspicions. Daenerys was weeping. Sorrow hung about her as giant heaves shook her shoulders. " _Get out!" She_ blindly reached for another pillow and threw it over her shoulder. " _Now!"_

"Khaleesi," he said softly.

Her wrath subsided immediately. He was the only one she revealed her emotions to, and only because he seemed to see through her facades anyway.

Jorah didn't need to ask what was wrong; it was Jon, the princess, and the reminder of the life Daenerys couldn't have but wanted so desperately.

Jon and Daenerys lived as lovers and rulers during and shortly after the war, but Jon's nagging need for an heir instead of an appointed successor drove them apart. The king returned to the North while the Queen stayed in the capital with her dragons. Daenerys' affections cooled toward him, but they vowed to rule together to keep the kingdom's peace. That's when he'd married Freya, fathered Lylane, named her his heir, and drove the stake further through the queen's heart.

Sniffling and wiping her wet cheeks, the queen turned to her general. "Rhaego was supposed to succeed me. Now who do I name? Jon has his daughter, shall I just pick a lord at random? It's unfair. Everyone I love is taken from me. Drogo. Rhaego. Viserion. Viserys. My entire family."

"The Seven Kingdoms love you," Jorah offered.

She sniffled again, seemed to compose herself, and continued. "The child was supposed to be _our_ child! An heir, Targaryen and Stark. But I- I-" she broke into noisy sobs. "It's my fault. Everything goes back to that maegi and how stupid I was to-"

"Khaleesi." Jorah knelt on the bed and pulled her into a bear hug. She immediately buried her face in his chest and cried even harder. The dignified poise she cloaked herself in had gone. Daenerys was nothing but a puddle of skin and bones, crumpled into a heap in his arms. His heart ached for her; a dull heaviness filled his chest. Red-stained memories of Drogo's child flickered across his mind but he pushed them away. However painful the idea was for him, it had to be tenfold for the khaleesi. The night he was born and the immediate days were torture. It never seemed fitting to tell Daenerys how he'd sat beside her sleeping mat as she bled and cried and hovered somewhere between life and death for days.

Every time Lylane dashed across her path, Jorah was certain it was a twist of the knife in her heart that was Rhaego's death. He stroked her hair and rocked slightly, as if she were a child. "It's not your fault, Khaleesi."

Now her voice was a muffled sob against his tunic. "I don't even want to _see_ that girl."

"You were once a child, hated for who your parents were," he murmured into her hair. "Don't blame Lylane." He held her out and looked into her violet eyes, still watering. "Khaleesi. These feelings will pass."

The queen looked up at him. Tears clung to her eyelashes. "To have no heir. The dragons are my children, to be sure, and the new eggs will hatch soon, but-" She trailed off. "I feel as though everything is slipping from my grasp."

His eyes, bright blue like the summer sky, focused on her. "No, Khaleesi. You are the best ruler this country has ever seen." There was valiant truth in his tone. Daenerys Stormborn was the fairest ruler Westeros had seen in hundreds of years and he'd tell anyone as much. "A small uprising is nothing. How many did the Usurper put down, yet reign for years?"

"It's not that." She pulled away from him and sat back. "No husband, no child, I've shamed myself by trying to dishonor your marriage-" she shook her head and blushed. "This isn't me. This is not what I do, not what I _want._ I won the crown. _We_ won the crown. The Iron Throne is mine." She stood and walked to the basket where the black eggs sat. For a moment she studied the blue and green speckles on them. Calmness seemed to wash over her when she ran her hand over the scaly stone. "I used to tell myself that if I looked back, I was lost. I looked forward to the iron throne, to coming home. I never looked beyond that, now here I am; uncertain of my next step, not knowing what to look forward to. Now I have looked back and lost everything."

"Perhaps in time you can rekindle things with Jon. He loved you, Khaleesi. I'm certain he still may. You have both grown in the years apart." Jorah thought the suggestion was either likely to calm her or enrage her.

Her silver head bobbed up and down as she sniffled the last of her emotion out. "Yes. I think you're right." Finally, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her lavender eyes flickered open, her resolve had returned. "I am so fond of you, Ser Jorah."

Jorah took a step back, but Daenerys reached out and took one of his hands in hers.

"You have been my truest friend. How I've mistreated you over the years, and how you've only ever served me better day by day. I'm honored that you choose to serve by my side, Ser. Thank you." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I think I'll see if Lady Sansa would like to ride with me. Distraction from my own worries would be welcome and more productive than anything I could do here."

"If you mean to ride the dragons, I doubt Sansa will join," he chuckled. "Northerners are much less willing to risk their lives than these southern folk."

"You're a northerner and ride the dragons just fine," Daenerys scoffed. "But horses it is, then," she smiled. Wrinkles set around her eyes; it was a true, hard smile. "I guess only the bravest of warriors will enter the dragon's den, hmm? Give Lady Baylee my best," she added as she disappeared into the washroom.


	12. Old Flame

**Author Note: I have found my people! I'm so glad there are other Jorah fans out there!**

 **Sorry for the updates slowing down and this one being so short- I'm actually marrying my own Ser Jorah next weekend and have been a bit busy. (:**

The Festival of the Narrow Sea drew thousands to the city center. People of every size and color milled past each other, exchanging curious glances. Children laughed and exotic animals called out. The people of the capital took it all in in awe. Seeing the dragons had been one thing, but now to have the rest of the world at their back door? It was more than any of them had hoped for.

Daenerys watched out her window, thrilled as Missandei finished braiding her hair and Jorah lingered at the doorway. Noise floated up to her; the crowd roaring joyfully in twenty or more different languages.

"You said I could unite the world," she exclaimed with wonder. "I was a girl. I didn't believe you. But we _did."_ She glanced back to him. "My bear, how I should have never doubted you."

Jorah offered a lopsided smile. "None should have doubted _you,_ Khaleesi."

"Am I interrupting?" a gruff voice came.

Jorah moved aside as Jon Snow looked into the room. "Jon. Of course not." Behind him, Daenerys and Missandei exchanged grins. Respect and custom be damned; the queen was the only one Jorah called _your grace._

To be fair, Jon pushed off most titles, anyway; remaining Jon Snow although his true identity was Aegon Targaryen. _"It keeps me in the gray where I prefer it,"_ he explained. " _I'm a Stark, I'm a Targaryen. I've been dead. I'm alive. I'm from the North, I've traveled south. I'm tired of black and white. I'd rather be Jon Snow."_

Now wearing Targaryen red and Stark grey, Jon bowed slightly as Missandei finished the queen's hair and bid her a good time at the festival. "Might I escort my queen to the opening ceremonies?" he asked brusquely.

Daenerys glanced at Jorah. He nodded back to her. Jon Snow, though her nephew, was a good man. If he could get back on the queen's good graces, Jorah would support them wholeheartedly. Jon was young, and perhaps there was still a chance yet for them to conceive a child together, if they both wanted.

"I was hoping you'd want that," Daenerys answered with a coy smile. "Let's start this festival over, shall we? I really am pleased you're here. Forgive my harsh tongue yesterday. I was cruel. It has been a trying time. The princess is a reminder of the children I haven't yet had. And I'm certain you've been briefed on the Lannister rebellion threat. Two of their men were in the palace and tried to kill Lady Baylee."

"Is she all right?" Jon exclaimed, spinning back to the queensguard. "You didn' say anythin' yesterday. Why?"

"She's fine and her attackers dead," Jorah shrugged. "My men and the city watch have a close eye on the festivals. We've doubled the guard. With your men, it will be more than enough." When doubt crept up and his mind conjured lovely Baylee's face scared and screaming at the hand of rebels, he smashed it down. _I've done all I can do. It will have to be enough._

"Why did they mean to kill your wife? Baylee, isn't it? Why should someone care about the queensguard lord commander's wife?" Jon looked to Daenerys, then squinted back at Jorah. "Why did no one send a raven?"

Jorah opened his mouth to speak, but the queen cut him off.

"Because I foolishly put her at risk," she said with very real remorse. "You'll remember my Highgarden informant? I wasn't certain I could trust Varys, so I recruited my own little bird. She was good, very good during the war." She sighed and turned to adjust her dress in a heavy, ornate mirror, careful not to catch eye contact with either of the men. The lavender fabric fell gracefully down her body; she knew she was as beautiful as the day she took the Seven Kingdoms. Staring hard into her own reflection, she continued, "Should anything happen to Lady Baylee, it would be my fault."

"You sent a lady of the court to Oldtown to spy on known rebels." Jon blinked, clearly bothered. "I can't disagree with you there, Your Grace. If a rebel gets to her, it's no one's fault but your own." He grimaced back at Jorah. "Feel free to escort your wife. I'll be with Daenerys and the rest of your men."

The idea was a relief, but Jorah shook his head. "My place is with the queen, regardless of who escorts her. Having the two of you together makes her even more of a target."

A flicker of an old rivalry passed Jon's face, but he nodded. "You're right. Lady Baylee will accompany us, then. Your place is by the queen but it's also your duty to keep your wife safe. So do both. That's a command," he added sternly.

Though Ned Stark wasn't Jon's true father, he sure instilled his values in the future king, Jorah thought. The king's sense of loyalty at any cost rubbed Jorah the wrong way, and he couldn't say why. "I'm only sworn to obey my queen," he replied brusquely.

Daenerys was smiling kindly. "We'll wait here for you. Fetch Lady Baylee. She'll be my guest."

* * *

Baylee lingered at Jorah's side in the queen's tent on the raised platform in the arena. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword; hers on his forearm. Dothraki queensguards surrounded them. Their white furs flapped lightly in the breeze. Only Jorah in his black and red armor was stationed on the platform with the king and queen.

When Baylee shifted so that she was more nestled in Jorah's side, he looked down at her. "Are you frightened, my lady? There's no safer place for you to be."

"Lady Baylee, come, sit by me," Daenerys said, motioning to the chair beside her. Jon sat on the other side of the queen, and Sansa on the other side of him. "You don't have to stand the whole time. I've told your husband a million times that he doesn't need to, either, but you can't teach an old knight new tricks." She laughed.

"Your queensguard _should_ be standing at your side," Jon said disinterestedly. "It's an honor."

"Mmm, what is that smell?" Daenerys suddenly piped. Her lilac eyes sparkled. "Oh, those sweet sausages!" She grabbed Jon's hand. "Can you smell that? I had them as a child. When is the next act? Do I have a moment?"

Laughing, Jon shook his head. "You're the bloody queen. They'll wait for you." He looked back to Jorah and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

"Come!" Daenerys exclaimed, grabbing Baylee by the wrist and pulling her down the stairs. "Come, come, come. You've probably never had them, have you? They're from Essos. They're sweet, but spicy, or maybe salty? They're delicious and you'll have to try one. You've never had a sausage like this." The silk of her dress billowed out behind her as she bounded down off of the platform, as giddy as a child. Baylee laughed and followed behind. The ladies' brightly colored gowns were easy to spot in the crowd full of vendors and commoners.

Jorah followed behind them, his long legs easily matching the women's quick strides. Javo, a queen's bloodrider, also stalked after as the women strolled into the crowd.

"I used to eat there with my brother," Daenerys said. She turned to Baylee. "Do you have siblings? Or, did you?"

Baylee shook her head. "A few babes who died in childbirth were my only siblings. I was destined to be all my parents had. As you know, father died in war, and mother died of a plague that blew through."

"And now you have your lord husband," Daenerys smiled. "And all of the members of my queensguard, I imagine? I've heard tales that the lord's wife often ends up looking after the lot of them." She grimaced. "The Dothraki can be a bit much the first time you welcome them into your home, but Ser Jorah has plenty of experience with their culture."

Someone crashed into Baylee, sending her stumbling into the queen. "Hey!" she snapped.

Javo appeared out of nowhere, arakh drawn and scowl on his face. Jorah stepped forward, gently pulling Daenerys behind him. Baylee had recovered her footing and was glaring with her hands on her hips. When the aggressor turned around, Jorah's stomach churned. _Lynesse._

"Well, fancy seeing you here," she chimed cheerily. "Twice in a week? Lucky me. Look at you, all done up in Targaryen colors. Quite handsome. Much better than that ugly bear you used to wear."

Lynesse was wearing a whore's dress; cleavage spilling out to the point of bursting. There was no doubt why she was attending the festival. Jorah averted his eyes. The woman was cruel and broke his heart, but she was certainly still pleasing to the eyes. Why she was whoring instead of attending to her lover Tregar Ormollen was beyond him.

"The queen is coming through. Move," he barked.

"Such authority," Lynesse giggled. She nodded to Baylee. "I'm certain you enjoy the spoils when that pent-up anger gets released, aye?" She winked. "I remember those nights. I remember them _well._ Anyway, where's your other lady? Sansa Stark keeping company with the likes of a Mormont!" Lynesse turned to one of her servants. "Wasn't it the Starks who chased us across the Narrow Sea?"

"And this is?" Daenerys asked Baylee as she gently pushed past Jorah.

"Lynesse Mormont, formerly," the concubine announced in a sing-song voice. "Of House Hightower. I now spend my days in Lys with a rich merchant." She sighed happily. "Back in the luxurious kind of life a Hightower deserves. It takes having nothing to truly appreciate having everything." She offered a sad smirk to Jorah.

Baylee's fingers curled into fists, but the queen jumped in before she could reply. "A Hightower?" Daenerys repeated, ignoring her jab at Jorah. "Loyal to the Tyrells and the Baratheons, as I understand. Things have surely changed since the last time you were in Westeros," Daenerys replied coolly.

"I'm quite surprised that no one has taken your general's head off. A pity, that would be," Lynesse purred, reaching up to trace her finger along his jaw. Her nose wrinkled as she smiled at the feel of his whiskers against her skin again. "All that brawn and metal, but I'm afraid your Lord Commander is hardly fearsome, Your Grace."

"Does this whore bother you?" Javo snarled. He looked Lynesse up and down and shook his head in disgust. "I cut out her insides."

Lynesse's breath caught in her chest and her breasts heaved, but she did not move away. Daenerys raised a hand and Javo lowered his blade.

The queen's dark eyebrow quirked. "You seem to think you're quite familiar with Ser Jorah. All I know about you, is that you're the wife who left him after you spent all his gold. In all my years with Ser Jorah by my side, I've neither seen nor heard about you since I granted that annulment long ago."

Baylee glanced to Jorah. His face was absolute disinterest. He glanced back at her and wondered what she was thinking. _Don't compare yourself to her,_ he thought desperately.

"Attending the dances today, Your Grace?" Lynesse changed the subject. "You'll see some of my girls, if you do."

"I am," Daenerys replied. "And I've seen enough of your _girls_ as it is. Come, we should get our food and be back for the show. We'll miss the rest of the festival if we stop and chat with every whore we see." With that, the queen strode away from the wench without so much as a second look.

Jorah followed in amused disbelief. The ladies strutted away in seek of the sweet sausages, tossing their hair over the shoulders and turning their noses upward.

Beside him, Javo was scowling. "Next time, I gut the pig. Your men here are too weak. She leave her alive with no punishment, she next time will talk like that again to great khaleesi." He spat into the dirt.

"Jorah," Lynesse called after them.

"Ignore her," Baylee snarled, reaching back and taking his arm.

"She's not worth a moment more of your time, Ser Jorah," Daenerys added.

Jorah heeded their advice. Striding away from the wretch, his head held high and with two fierce women in his care, Jorah Mormont knew life had turned out in his favor.


	13. Deja Vu

Sweat trickled down Jorah's neck. It wasn't a spectacularly hot day, but there was no breeze under the king and queen's tent. Under his armor, he sweated and stunk and dreamed of a cold bath at day's end. The Narrow Sea Festival performers were interesting enough, but he focused more on the crowd and hunted for signs of danger.

Troupe after troupe performed over the afternoon: dancers, jugglers, actors and singers, fire-eaters, mummers, jousts. Some acts thanked the king and queen for watching them. Others presented them with their own outfits or accessory from their home country. Daenerys eagerly accepted the gowns, crowns, and jewels. Jon forced a smile, then dumped the gifts in a pile behind his throne.

Occasionally Jorah's attention wandered to his wife. She was the Maid herself. He long hair trailed down her back and she looked every bit a royal, seated beside the queen and in the company of Sansa. When Baylee admired a bejeweled bangle presented to Daenerys by a dancing group, the queen smiled and slid it onto her wrist, saying it was a gift. The simple act struck Jorah and he considered his anger at the queen for sending Baylee on another espionage mission completely burnt out.

Now Baylee was giggling with the queen over a skit called _The Imp's Dragon Ride._ The dwarf actor swung his short blade at the "dragon," tripped over his cloak, and tumbled into the fake Drogon's snout. The girls' loud peals of laughter made the knight smile. Their second run-in with Lynesse had spoiled his mood for some time, but the afternoon turned itself around. _These women are my life,_ Jorah thought in relief.

The queen giggled. "It's a shame Tyrion didn't want to attend. The national coin surely could have waited to be tallied."

"Had only I known of his kindness, I'd have not been so cruel to him when we were wed," Sansa sighed. "Lord Tyrion truly is a good Hand."

"Had only I known this would be a boring afternoon, I'd have attended Tyrion with the coin," Jon sighed. "I've had enough of this. It all looks the same." He stood and stretched. "I'm getting an ale. Do you want one, Your Grace?"

"No, thank you," Daenerys shrugged. "I'm quite enjoying myself. Baylee? Sansa?"

When they shook their heads, Jon nodded. "All right. Tell me if I miss any spectacular twirling or singing." He rolled his eyes. "Even Lylane would be bored."

"Then it's good she's with her septa and King," Sansa replied. "Quit complaining and go get your ale. You're ruining the mood. Go."

After another dance number, Sansa sat back and looked to her friends. "You think those are that wretch Lynesse's dancers?" she asked softly, casting a quick glance back at Jorah.

He heard, but said nothing.

"Of course not," Daenerys replied. "Look how they cover themselves. Did you see how that woman was dressed?" She rolled her eyes and leaned to Sansa. "I'm certain we'll know them when we see them."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's out there, dancing with them," Baylee sighed. "It's pathetic, really. Nothing else to offer anyone. Those looks will run out eventually. And then what?"

"They already have," Sansa scoffed. "She's so _old_ and wrinkly. And _mean!_ "

A smirk came to the queen's face. "When they run out, she'll have what she deserves. Nothing."

The ladies' outright hatred surprised Jorah. His heart inflated further at the fierce defense the queen, his wife, and Lady Sansa were playing for his honor. Something suddenly made the hair on Jorah's arms stand on end. The delight was short-lived. He marched to the end of the platform and surveyed the arena.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked solemnly, leaning forward and clutching the armrests of the throne. She glanced to Baylee, who looked equally as concerned.

Jorah shook his head. "I don't know." The beat of the drum battled the rapid pounding of his heart. The crowd and performers seemed the same as before, yet something had shifted. _But what?_

"Is there-" Baylee started.

All at once there was too much commotion. The dancing spilled forth from the pit. Colors whirled about. The musicians played louder. Jorah swore. He'd seen this happen before at the fighting pits in Mereen. A thousand thoughts spun through his head. _Fanatics. Rebellion. Terrorizing the public. Assassinating Daenerys._ He unsheathed his sword and barked " _Stay together!"_

The screaming began seconds later. Dancers advanced toward the platform. Rebels posing as festival goers blocked the exits and cut down anyone who tried to escape. Still the dancers whirled, colors and fabrics flashing, adding to the chaos.

Javo snarled a command in Dothraki. The queen's bloodriders at the base of the platform knocked the dancers to the ground and shouted for them to get back. When the dancers pressed forward, twirling and skipping, Javo called out again and the queensguards lunged forward with their blades, dropping the brightly-dressed men and women to the ground.

"What do we do?" Baylee breathed. "Do we fight?"

"No," Daenerys answered in a voice as brave as she could muster. "Do as Ser Jorah says." She reached down and wrapped her fingers around Baylee's wrist. "He's never let anything happen to me. We'll be just fine." She swallowed hard and nodded. "We shall stay together."

Sansa held Baylee's other hand; entwining her fingers. "I wish Jon hadn't left," she breathed.

 _Jon._ Jorah gritted his teeth. The king leaving the platform had to have been the first domino in whatever scheme this was. Someone had been waiting to give the signal when King Jon left the women unprotected.

Below, Javo's arakh sailed through a dancer's robes and came out red and shining on the other side. Another dancer rushed him. Two silver blades appeared from the lime green robes. The queensguard parried them away before loping off the attacker's head.

"Oh, gods," Sansa breathed, turning her head away.

"Lord Commander!" the young queensguard named Elias shouted from below. "It's the rebels! Look how those in the crowd wear the lion sigil! It's the attack we feared!"

Sure enough, several men in golden lion masks appeared in the crowd. They'd been assumed as a performing troupe, but Jorah swore aloud again at his stupidity. Some of them were covered in blood Jorah strongly suspected belonged to his queensguards stationed outside the arena. A lion made his way halfway up the stairs to the platform before Jorah struck him down. He knelt and tore off the mask. A Westerosi man; not a performer from across the sea at all.

"Stay together," Jorah barked at the ladies again. He spared a glance at Baylee before quickly unsheathing a smaller blade from his belt. "You're smart. You're strong. Fast. I'll protect you if I can, but if I'm killed, remember what I taught you."

Her eyes widened in realization that he'd carried her blade with him. "Jorah," she breathed. "I-"

"I love you, Baylee," he declared before turning back toward the stairs. "Elias! With me! Protect the queen!"

Before Elias could ascend the platform, a spear exploded through his stomach. The force knocked him forward. He landed on his knees, unaware of what happened. The bloody spear seemed to confuse him. The queensguard touched it in wonder. When he looked up at Jorah, his face contorted in realization and pain.

Jorah cringed. Elias was young. Smart. Engaged to be wed. He watched, helpless, as the young man died in the dirt. _One of hundreds dying here._ The surging in his chest and arms forced Jorah to push the thought out of his head and focus on the women, huddled together in their bright gowns.

The screaming had grown to a climax. Steel clashed and rang out. Children shrieked and commoners cried out in a dozen different languages. Queensguards battled rebels at the exits, hoping to free the crowd. The platform was an island in a sea of absolute madness. Jorah turned about. Several lion masks were closing in on the platform from all sides. It was all too familiar. Had fate favored them, Drogon would swoop in again and save the day like he had in Mereen. Casting his eyes skyward, Jorah hoped that would come to pass.

Suddenly Sansa cried out. "Jon!"

Longclaw glimmered like a ruby in the sea of flailing limbs and glinting weapons. The king seemed untouched as he slaughtered his way through the crowd. "Stay there!" Jon called back as he kicked a dancer in a deep purple robe in the chest. As the attacker stumbled, Jon brought Longclaw down and found bone.

Jorah slashed at the nearest lion before turning to see who to kill next. The women were gasping. He rushed toward them, but realized there was no need. Baylee slashed her sword wildly at a man who'd reached the top of the platform. The blade cut through black robe and skin alike. Bright crimson sprayed across Baylee's front; a stark contrast to the turquoise of her gown. Her face strained in effort as she kicked the corpse to the ground. Instead of returning to Sansa and Daenerys, she stood at the edge of the platform, sword awaiting the next man to threaten them.

"Mormont!" Jon's voice came from the stairs. The entire platform rocked as he stormed upward, violently cutting men down as he went. "We have to go!"

"How? Where?" Jorah snapped, kicking an attacker off the platform and cutting down another. "We need the dragons!"

"They'll come," Daernerys said hopefully.

Jon briefly turned to survey the arena. "I'll take Daenerys. See after my sister."

"No," Jorah replied. "You must split up. Take Lady Stark. I'll see Daenerys to safety."

Jon nodded, then reached for Sansa's hand. "Come! Baylee, you as well."

The woman shook her head. "No. I can help. I've already killed two of them! I'm-"

"Go!" Jorah interrupted. An arrow whizzed by his head and he pretended he hadn't seen it. "Go now!"

Reluctantly, she turned and joined the Starks. Jorah watched her face, noting the fear and courage on it. _"_ Baylee," he murmured to himself.

"Where do we go?" Daenerys asked as she took his arm and cowered next to him. "Drogon should be here by now. You don't think something happened to-?"

"Perhaps he's off hunting the sea and doesn't hear the screams," Jorah replied, trying to calm the woman. "Stay close. Just like the fighting pits, all those years ago." Sweat rolled down his neck and stung his scarred skin. He thought of Elias and considered himself lucky. If he survived the day, he would have to tell the poor Tyrell girl that her fiance was dead.

Spotting an escape route, Jorah pulled her along. "There! Hurry." The archway had gotten closer and he had real hope that they'd both escape unharmed when a blow knocked him to the ground. Pain shot forth from the back of his head. _Why didn't I wear a helm,_ he thought in annoyance. _Why do I always forget?_ He felt Daenerys fall next to him. With stars in his eyes and pain beginning to spread down his neck and across his forehead, Jorah felt for the queen. "Khaleesi," he rasped. Whatever had hit them wasn't done. Another blow would mean to kill the queen. He'd cover her body with his and hopefully buy her enough time for one of her bloodriders, another queensguard, _someone_ to save her. But she was gone.


	14. The Fray

Crawling on his hands and knees, Jorah blinked through the dust. Had he been knocked out? How had they ripped the queen from his side? "Khaleesi," he called. Pain consumed every thought he tried to process. There was only the burning, electric torture in his head and the knowledge that Daenerys Targaryen, his charge and his queen, as no longer in his protection. " _Khaleesi_!" The greyscale skin of his torso was surely cracked and bleeding, and he'd feel the blow for days. "Khaleesi," the knight choked in the dirt. Squinting, he spotted Javo's blood-splattered white fur and yelled to him. "Javo! Daenerys? Where is Daenerys?"

"Andal! I have no seen her," Javo called, rushing over and pulling Jorah to his feet. His eyes were wide in heartbreak. "The khaleesi is gone?" He shook his head. "No! _No!"_ He beat his chest twice. "Javo will give his life for Dragon Queen."

Daenerys Targaryen was the true queen to so many people, sometimes Jorah forgot just how devoted her followers were. He nodded to Javo. "I'll find her. I'll _find her!"_

Jorah scanned the courtyard. There were skirmishes near every exit. The arena had emptied, but dozens of bloody bodies remained in the stands, on the ground. Queensguards called to one another. Metal met metal and bows twanged. How such a large group of attackers concealed themselves confused him and made his stomach churn. _I've failed us all,_ he lamented as the remaining ranks of the bloodied Lannisters rallied together before him.

Jorah stumbled forward, ignoring his head as best he was able, looking for the light lavender of Daenerys's dress amid the scattering commoners and pursuing Lannister rebels. "Khaleesi!" he hollered over the commotion. Though he was a head taller than most men, there was too much movement for him to get a good look through the crowd. And now the colors were blurring together as his head pounded and eyes struggled to focus. " _Khaleesi!"_

"Mormont!"

Jorah didn't want to look, but felt another punch in the gut when he did. Jon was running toward him alone. "Jon!" Jorah roared. "Where are they?" _Baylee. Sansa. Baylee! Gone. Dead? Wounded? Kidnapped? My ladies, oh, my ladies. I've failed you. No, Baylee._

Jon shook his head. "I don't know. We got separated. Where's Daenerys?"

A bolt of pain split down Jorah's temple. He gritted his teeth and put his hands to his forehead. " _Gah!"_ The pain was infinitely worse than Sam Tarly's greyscale treatment. "I don't know. I don't know. She- I took a bad hit. She's gone."

"They're falling back, disappearing. They might have the girls. They might have Dany!" With that, Jon tore back off, parrying and cutting down rebels.

 _Or the Highgarden Spy,_ Jorah thought in horror. With renewed vigor, he stormed through the arena toward a random exit, cutting down anyone in his way. _Baylee, stay alive. Do anything to stay alive._

Every road out of the arena was full of people heading to the safety of their homes. The rebels who fled blended right back in to the crowd. There were no flamboyant colors in the crowd; no lavender, pink, or turquoise gowns of high ladies. Snarling, Jorah turned back into the arena and climbed the seats as high as he could. If the women were anywhere to be found, he'd be able to pick them out from above. Halfway up the stands, he spotted the women below at one end of the arena.

They had all three found one another; their bright gowns a beacon to each other, but unfortunately also to the lion rebels. The dancers had all scurried away or been killed; now only the lions remained. Baylee and Daenerys sneered as the pride prowled around them, snarling and snapping. Sansa looked far more frightened.

Jorah took the stairs three at a time, praying his legs didn't fail him. _Though tumbling down may be faster,_ he thought in serious humor. He'd never felt older or slower.

"Don't!" Daenerys called from below as Baylee stepped forward. She reached out for the lady's gown, but the material slipped through the queen's fingers. "Baylee, _no!"_

 _Don't_! Jorah agreed. He tore his eyes away from the stairs every few seconds to monitor what was happening below. "Baylee! Get back!" he hollered. Yet he knew she'd never hear. Adrenaline had a tendency to mute the senses. She'd never hear him with the blade in her hand. Helpless, he watched Baylee engage one of the lions. A blow meant for her face missed the mark as she spun away from it, but the next stroke caught her sword and the force knocked her backward to the ground.

With their only defense on the ground, a lion rushed toward Sansa and Daenerys. They cowered together. The attacker cried out triumphantly, bringing his gauntlet down on Sansa's head. She dropped to the ground in a pile of pink silk. Then he turned for the queen. Before he could strike again, Grey Worm appeared out of nowhere, furiously pushing through the lions with a few Unsullied. He took Daenerys by the arm and charged for an exit with her as his soldiers engaged the lions. The queen screamed back for Baylee, but she shook her head and stood her ground.

Suddenly Jon was there, too, scooping Sansa from the ground and following after Grey Worm. Baylee stumbled to her feet and made to follow them, but froze and glanced skyward. Overhead a dragon screamed. The roar was better than any song or trumpet blast.

" _Yes!"_ Jorah hollered.

The panic in the lions was palpable. They collided with each other as they tried to escape. Rhaegal screeched again and sent forth a blast of fire. Jorah could feel the heat on his face, but cried out in joy anyway.

As the lions scampered toward the exits, Baylee danced away from them and avoided their blades. Jorah had never been more proud or more fearful for another human being. Standing in the middle of the fray, Baylee held her sword high and defiantly smirked as the enemy cowered and ran away from her. She didn't see the Lannister rushing toward her from behind.

 **Author's Note:** Sorry for so many cliffhangers. Okay, really I'm going to go get married now so I'll update sometime next week! 3


	15. Deus Ex Machina

Emerald Rhaeal circled the arena, blasting dragonfire and saving the day. Below, absolute chaos swirled as the city watch gold cloaks and Lannister rebels clashed. Rhaegal screamed overhead. Dragonfire exploded, blocking the exit. Screams filled the air once more; the lions' black robes now flaming prisons they could not escape.

Jorah moved toward his wife as dragonfire burned men in black robes. How the dragons could discern between friend and foe, he'd never figured out, but Jorah was thankful for it. The creatures had saved his life more than once and he'd never forget it. Perhaps they remembered him as the one who fed them his leftover meat when they were hatchlings.

Lady Baylee stood her ground, slashing out at lions as they ran past her toward the exits. Triumph lit up her face. Upon seeing Jorah running toward her, she beamed. The worry on his face killed her smile. A lion caught her from behind with the blunt end of a spear. The surprise of the blow knocked her to her knees. She slashed out with her blade, but the man in black kicked her into the dirt and drew his sword.

" _No_!" Jorah cried. He snatched a spear from a body - _a queensguard,_ he noticed with a grimace – and let it fly. The bloody metal tip found its second victim that day. Had there been time, Jorah would have heaved a sigh of relief that his wife was safe. For now.

Not questioning where the spear came from, Baylee tripped over her dress as she got to her feet. The spear resisted as she tried to tear it from her attacker's chest. It came free with a mighty tug, and she turned, ready to throw, searching for an aggressor. Her arm cocked back and nearly loosed when she spotted her husband. "Jorah!"

"Baylee!" Jorah looked her over as quickly as he could spare. Pleased that none of the blood staining her gown seemed to be her own, he nodded. Positioning himself back-to-back with her, he cried, "Stay by me." The heat of the dragonfire burned his skin, but he didn't dare curse it.

"Where's Sansa? The queen?" Baylee breathed. "Did they get out?"

"They're safe," Jorah replied. As far as he knew, it was true. Grey Worm had rushed Daenerys away and Jon had Sansa in his arms when he saw them last.

"There's no way out," Baylee panted, spinning about. Fire burned everywhere; burning bodies, bone, even the dirt floor. Somewhere outside their inferno, there was still fighting.

"There's a way out," Jorah panted. "There's a way." He craned his neck skyward and cried out. " _Rhaegal!"_

Rhaegal was above them, belching a stream of bright flame. Hearing Jorah's voice, he cocked his head and circled around once again. The breeze from his wings fanned the flames; they licked higher into the sky, burning bright white. When the beast touched down, the ground trembled beneath their feet.

Jorah shielded his face from the heat, then turned to Baylee. "Come on," he urged her, stepping toward the dragon.

"What're you doing?" Baylee asked hesitantly. "No. We're not-?"

Steam shot at Jorah as Rhaegal turned to study him. With faith he hadn't expected, Jorah held up a hand as he'd seen Khaleesi do a thousand times. Rhaegal reached out and sniffed him, then shook his head disinterestedly before snarling at movement in the stands and breathing fire at men in black robes.

Jorah motioned for Baylee to follow him. "Quickly," he urged her as he carefully climbed onto the back of the dragon, making sure not to kick any of the green or bronze scales. He'd often fed or played with the dragons when they were babies and had ridden with Daenerys on Drogon several times. As pups, the dragons sang when he entered their mother's tent, but Jorah had a hard time fathoming the beast beneath him was the same reptilian pup that had playfully crawled up his arms and nipped at his ears only a decade ago.

"Come." Jorah reached down and offered his hand.

Baylee stuffed her sword back into her belt and meant to climb onto the dragon, but a stray arrow sailed past her cheek and she gasped in pain. Her fingers brushed against the light graze at her cheek. Her eyes were full of confusion as she looked up at her husband on dragonback.

"Baylee," Jorah called down to her. He reached out further. "Take my hand. Quickly."

Nodding, Baylee stumbled toward the dragon. Another arrow whizzed by, missing her this time, but making her turn back and stare through the flames.

In a blaze of fiery glory, a wounded lion rebel lept through the dragonfire and rushed Baylee. In a blink of the eye, he had her by the hair on her knees.

" _No!"_ Jorah made to jump from the dragon, but Rhaegal lurched and he frantically reached for a handhold. " _Baylee_!"

The lion cocked its head up at Jorah as he whipped the blade across her throat.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** **I wouldn't dare leave a third cliffhaner in a row. I originally wanted to link the entire Festival attack together, but there just wasn't time with wedding things! I'm back now and ready to rock and roll! (:**

A quiet voice broke the silence in the infirmary. "Will she live?"

Daenerys lingered by the doorway, a rueful look in her violet eyes. "I tried to come sooner. I'm so sorry."

"She'll live." Jorah sat back and rubbed his face, his rough palms raking against his whiskers. He still wore his bloody armor. "She was awake the whole time. The maester just gave her some milk of the poppy."

Baylee lie in the infirmary, her eyelids fluttering every so often. A red valley ran across her shoulder and collarbone, still wet and oozing. A Lannister rebel tried to slit her throat as dragonfire burned around them in the festival attack, but by some miracle Baylee jerked upward just as the blade began its work. The dagger missed its mark and instead of losing her life, she lost only blood. Though he didn't remember doing so, Jorah killed the lion and carried Baylee onto Rhaegal to make a grand escape. He did remember praying. The air was cool in his face and Baylee's blood was warm on his hands, arms, legs as Rhaegal screamed and carried them to safety. As his wife's blood made it hard to hold onto the slick dragon scales, Jorah prayed to the old gods to keep his wife alive.

"She looks well, considering." Daenerys entered the room and sat in a chair at the foot of the bed. "What have the maesters said?"

Jorah never took his gaze from his wife's face. "She'll be fine in time, but with a scar."

"She'll be just as beautiful. It's only her breast."

"I don't care if she had a scar like Tyrion's. I thought she was going to die, Khaleesi." After a moment, he smiled. "She told _me_ as she bled and bled that if riding a dragon was the last thing she did, then her life wouldn't be wasted for nothing." The smile felt unnatural in that moment, but Jorah let it happen. He even chuckled. "Stubborn woman."

The queen smiled. "You may not think so, but long before your marriage, Baylee was a trusted friend. She wasn't _just_ my informant." Daenerys looked over Baylee's body. "I shall never put her at risk again."

Jorah finally tore his gaze away from his wife. "The Starks? Grey Worm? Our men?"

"Jon's fine," Daenerys quickly answered. "And Lady Stark will be fine in some time. A concussion, they said. Grey Worm and the Unsullied were largely untouched." She swallowed and sat up straighter.

"How many of my men, Khaleesi? The white cloaks?"

"Half."

Jorah nodded. Three good men. Dead, and without a second thought from him. When Rhaegal landed in a courtyard in the Red Keep, he'd sprinted to the infirmary. Perhaps an hour had passed, but all of his thoughts had been with his wife. "I'll see to them shortly," he mumbled.

Daenerys nodded sadly. "I thought the festival would be spoken of for years because it was enchanting and full of wonder for my subjects, not because their families were slaughtered before them." As she spoke her voice filled with hatred. "Javo captured several of those in lion masks. We shall find out if there are more of them. We shall find them and bring them to justice. None more will die at their hands. I'll put a blade to each of their necks for their treason."

"There were rebels left alive?" Jorah asked in surprise.

Again, the queen looked away and pursed her lips.

"Khaleesi," Jorah sighed. "What's happened?"

"They were in the palace. The gold cloaks are doing a thorough search now." She held up a hand before Jorah could protest. "Javo left me just at the doorway. I'm safe here, with you. Jon is with Lylane and Sansa. The rest have the Stark household guard."

Gritting his teeth, he nodded. "Fine. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"You rode Rhaegal back here with your wife dying in your arms," Daenerys scoffed. "You weren't in any state to deal with a minor threat."

"A minor threat?" He glared at the queen. "Attackers in the palace is _not_ a minor threat."

The sheets whispered as Baylee stirred. "Mmm, who?" she hummed.

"Sleep, Baylee," Jorah cooed.

"Are they gone?" her hoarse whisper came.

Jorah moved to sit on the bed. With one hand resting on her leg, he peered down into her half-lidded eyes. "You're safe. The queen is safe, and Lady Sansa, as well." He brushed hair back from her face. "You did well, my love. Now rest."

"I died," she frowned. Heaviness tugged at her eyelids, but Baylee fought sleep. She touched his forearm. "I didn't train seriously enough," she slurred. "And died. Sorry." Sighing, she let sleep take hold.

"That will hurt for some time," Jorah nodded toward her wound.

"A similar wound killed my first husband," Daenerys frowned.

"Aye," Jorah nodded. He pulled the hem of her skirt back and began unbuckling Baylee's sandals. The leather bands reached up her legs to her knee and there were no less than a dozen buckles on each shoe. "I'll let no witches or Lannisters near her."

"You're a kind husband," Daenerys said softly. "I'm so glad you love her. I had hoped as much when I suggested her as a wife for you." After a moment, she raised an eyebrow. "Have you discussed children?"

"That's up to her," Jorah replied. He tossed one sandal to the floor and began unbuckling the second. "It's her life, her body. If she wants a child, I'd be thrilled. If she doesn't, what I have is already more than I deserve."

"That's also kind of you," Daenerys nodded. She kept speaking, but Jorah didn't hear anything she said.

A chill shot straight through him. Squinting, he pulled the leather straps away from Baylee's leg. _It can't be. It isn't. Please,_ he begged the gods for the second time that quickly unfastened the rest of the shoe and threw it to the floor. He pulled Baylee's skirt up to her thighs and frantically examined her legs.

The queen stood. "What's wrong?"

"Stay back, Khaleesi," Jorah growled. "Greyscale." He ran his hand over a dry, cracked spot on Baylee's shin. "New. Fresh." Panic swelled in his chest, a feeling quite foreign to the knight. "Sam Tarly said I was cured. I haven't had a spot of it for years." He looked in horror to the queen. "She's touched you. Sansa. I've touched you." He threw off his gauntlet and ripped back his sleeve. Scars shined up at him as always. "I don't understand." Jorah looked up to her, his eyes pleading.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys said calmly, moving toward him. "I think there might actually be a-"

"Get back!" he roared. Maester! Maester!"

The short, fat man, Maester Wynn, waddled into the infirmary. "Yes, my lord? Is the lady in distress?"

Jorah turned Baylee's leg for him to see. "Greyscale. I've given it to her, somehow. I, I-" he stuttered. "Sam Tarly said I was cured. The maester at the citadel said I couldn't pass it-" The maester chuckled, causing Jorah's mouth to snap shut as he gritted his teeth in anger. "My lady wife has contracted a fatal disease with only one painful cure and _laugh?"_

"You're cured, Lord Commander," the maester chuckled. He leaned over Baylee's leg, then ran his finger over the dry skin. "This isn't greyscale. It's but a common skin plight. Many people get it when the rains don't come."

Jorah still didn't smile. "I've _had_ it. I've lived with it for the better part of a year. How can you be certain?" he threatened in a low snarl.

"Actually, I've experienced that same skin ailment. It goes away on its own, as Maester Wynn said, when the rains come," Daenerys suggested. "Or when the baby comes."

"Why, yes, that too," the maester nodded. He bowed and shuffled out of the room, suddenly finding the floor very intriguing.

Jorah turned back to her. "Khaleesi?" For days he'd had his suspicions, but said nothing and awaited word from his wife. _So I wasn't imagining things._

The queen glanced at Baylee. Satisfied she was asleep, she smiled. "She meant to tell you after the festival. She knew it weighed heavy on your mind with the extra men and events. It was meant to be a surprise." Suddenly she was all teeth, grinning so hard her cheeks squeezed her eyes. "You'll be a father."

It had already been an emotionally exhausting day. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Failure. Loss. Victory. Terror. Relief. Now, Jorah simply nodded. "I don't blame her for waiting to tell me." As much as he wanted to be angry at her for putting herself and their unborn child at risk, he couldn't. The fresh memory of her blood running through his fingers as he begged the gods to spare her forbid it.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys scoffed. "You're going to be a father. You said you'd be thrilled."

"I'm sure I am," the knight smiled. "It has been a long day. Dead men to bury, rebels to track down, a city to protect. Our child is safe and my wife is alive. But she cannot stay here."


	16. To Winterfell

_Two Months Later_

Baylee looked in her mirror in horrified disbelief. New black locks made her look gaunt and pale. A corpse stared back at her.

In preparation for their trip north, Sansa dyed Baylee's chestnut hair a dark raven color, saying it'd help to straighten her wild curls and disguise her further since Baylee refused to cut it. Though Sansa gushed that it made Baylee look fierce, she disagreed. The black hair was horrid. Whereas that morning she swore she looked healthier than she had in some time, now she regarded a sickly woman in her reflection. The gash across her clavicle ached but had healed far more quickly than she'd expected. Yet with the black hair hanging on her shoulders, the red seemed to stand out against her milky complexion even brighter than when it was fresh.

"It's terrible," Baylee giggled at her reflection. Turning side to side, she covered her mouth. "I don't recognize myself."

"You're beautiful," Jorah shrugged, appearing behind her and wrapping his arms around her slightly swollen abdomen. "With raven hair or golden, you'd be ever as lovely." His warm breath on her neck sent chills down her arms.

It had been a point of contention for weeks, but Jorah won out in his argument to send Baylee to the North with Jon and Sansa. One of the queen's tasters was dead not a week past of the strangler poison. Two goldcloaks had turned up dead with vile warnings carved in their chests, claiming the Lion was near. There was a mole in the palace and Jorah was flummoxed as to who it could be. With Baylee's cover blown, it was hard to tell who the lions were hoping to off; the queen, the Highgarden spy, the Hand, or any of the lords and ladies who supported Daenerys.

"And if you can't flush the rebels in the next few months?" Baylee had challenged him. "Then what? You'll miss the birth of your first child?"

"Aye," Jorah nodded. "He or she will be born in the North, then, if the rebellion isn't crushed. Were this a battle on the field, I'd end it today. It's hard to kill an enemy you can't identify. I promise you I'm working on this with the greatest urgency. Spies are posted in every room of the palace. We'll have the lions ousted quickly, and before anyone else is killed." Then he had kissed her on the forehead. "I've not slept a night since the festival for fear someone would be lurking in the shadows, waiting to kill you and our child." He touched her stomach, then barely changed. "I'd send you across the Narrow Sea if I thought it was best for you."

Now he smiled at his wife, four months pregnant, and starting to show. He hoped to see her large with child, and back in King's Landing before the birth, but mostly he hoped for a quick end to the attacks and safety for all. As tempting as it was to keep her by his side, he knew he couldn't.

"This will have to do," Sansa sighed at Baylee's reflection. "Besides, you don't _want_ someone to recognize you. Don't touch your hair so much or it will turn your fingers black. Well, I'll give you two some time. Your horse will be ready."

Jorah nodded as Sansa excused herself from their chambers.

"I don't have to go. Two months have passed and nothing has happened." Baylee stood in front of the mirror, now staring at her pregnant stomach. "Everything has been fine."

"Thrice rebels have killed in the city."

"And thrice the gold cloaks have kept them from the queen and anyone of great consequence." She ran her hands over her belly. "I don't know what kind of gowns to bring. How much bigger is this baby going to get? I'd rather just stay here where I know the maester and where _you_ are." Her hands had moved to her hips.

Raising an eyebrow, Jorah sighed. "Have you forgotten that these people hate you more than others hated Varys? The Highgarden spy cannot simply step back into the shadows and disappear. You cannot defend yourself when you're ill every morning and weak all day. You'll sneak out of the city, some nameless maid of Lady Stark's. We'll spread word that Lady Mormont is abed, sick and with child."

Baylee pursed her lips and radiated sass. "You're certain this is a good idea? Perhaps I find I like the North and want to stay there? Perhaps they Northmen are _all_ under my spell." She shrugged. "Perhaps I take a lover. Isn't that what lords and ladies do?" Her nose wrinkled as she tried to keep a straight face.

"Then I'd ride North to make sure none win your favor." Jorah grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. When she gasped softly at the hardness pressed against her, he swelled with desire. "At least you're keeping true to the North." He kissed her neck. "All men will fall at your feet. Perhaps choose one who looks like me, and I'll be less offended." He chuckled as she spun and pushed him away.

"That's hardly an option," Baylee laughed. "A woman of thirty years, and pregnant? Hardly an appetizing temptation, even in the North."

"Even in the North," Jorah repeated in mock hurt. "Your lord husband is more a northerner than your king."

"The only ones more northern than the Starks are the wildlings."

"Then I shall show you how wild I can be," he growled seductively, pulling her onto the bed.

* * *

"Have you thought of any names?" Sansa asked as they rode that afternoon.

Black and grey cloaks flapped in the breeze everywhere around them. The Stark and Snow household guards were chatting easily about their time in the city. Horses snorted and pranced, happy to be on the road instead of cooped up in the stables. It was early summer and the kingsroad was green and fervent.

Baylee had been daydreaming of her tantalizing goodbye with her husband, but quickly snapped out of it. "I've tried," she sighed. "Neither of us have family names, but I don't think I'd want that. I like originality."

"Me, too," Sansa nodded. "It has been nice not being this Sansa or that Sansa. I'll be remembered as Sansa Stark. Not like Bran. Bran the Builder, Bran the Three Eyed Raven, Brandon Stark who was killed by the Mad King." She rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand that."

"Like Aegon Targaryen, you mean?" Jon bristled.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. No one's called you Aegon a day of your life. You could have taken that name but you chose _Snow_ instead."

"Who am I named after?" Lylane piped from her horse. "Not Stark and Targaryen and Giantsbane. I mean Lylane."

"Your grandmother's name was Lyanna Stark, but Lylane is a name all your own."

Something rustled in the trees and the wolves King and Ghost bolted into the forest to investigate. Lylane called after them, but Jon shushed her.

"Too bad you won't be taking a pup back with you," Sansa sighed. "The wolves are beautiful."

"Just because I'm having a baby doesn't mean I don't still want one." Baylee stared after the animals and smiled. "There are enough dogs in King's Landing. A wolf would be magnificent."

"They're very protective. They'd love to watch over a baby," Sansa sighed happily. "I just wasn't sure your lord husband would want one of them underfoot at the same time as a baby." She giggled. "Ser - he seems such a serious man." She bit her lip for a moment, relieved not to have uttered the Mormont name.

Lylane looked over from her pony, a curious look in her eyes. "Lady Baylee, will you have Ser Jorah's baby at Winterfell?"

"Lylane," Jon snapped. "Remember our game?"

"Oh, yes," the girl nodded seriously. "I'm to call you Magda. You're one my Aunt Sansa's ladies." She smiled, proud. "Magda, will you have," she hesitated, "your baby at Winterfell?"

"I hope not," Baylee responded. "Hopefully the gold cloaks and white cloaks get rid of the bad men and I'll be able to go back home soon." The notion made something in her gut churn. Being sent away for her own safety and assuming an identity was humiliating. Daenerys got to stay in the palace and as far as she knew, the queen had never swung a sword or done any real fighting. Baylee, on the other hand, killed two of the lion rebels at the festival and knew she could kill more if given the shaking in frustration, Baylee reminded herself that she carried a child and that she could hardly blame Jorah for his concern.

"If the baby is born at Winterfell, will he be a prince?" Lylane looked to Jon in concern.

"No," Jon answered. "You're a princess because I'm your father."

"Oh." Lylane's nose wrinkled as she thought it over. "I suppose so." She looked back to Baylee. "You still should be happy that you married Ser Jorah, even if he isn't a prince. I like him very much."

" _Lylane,_ " Jon snapped. "Why don't you take your pony and ride with your septa? You're not remembering to play our game and you could get _Magda_ in trouble if anyone hears you talk about her husband."

"Oh." As she wheeled her pony around, Lylane looked nervously to Baylee. "I'm sorry, Magda."

"It's all right this time. But I'll tell you a secret." Baylee leaned over. "I'm glad I married Ser Jorah, too."


	17. Dragon Lord

The silver queen was bathing in a large tub on the balcony of her chamber when Jorah stepped through the doors.

"My apologies," he said, bowing and immediately dropping his gaze. "Missandei said you were free for the afternoon and that you'd be here. I assumed you'd-"

"Please," Daenerys scoffed. "There's no place for false modesty between us. You delivered Rhaego. I've burned my clothes to ashes before you more times than I'll waste my time recalling." She rested her elbows on the tub ledge behind her and steam rose from her skin. Her breasts bobbed toward the surface of the water. "You look quite well. I imagine you saw Lady Baylee off in memorable fashion?" She grinned wickedly.

Jorah chuckled in surprise. He opened his mouth to reply, but could only laugh more.

"Good," the queen replied, a note of scandal in her voice. "I did the same to Jon Snow."

Certainly flushed by now, Jorah tried to regain himself but failed. Still laughing, he looked back up to her. "Truly, then, there is no longer any modesty between us."

The queen certainly looked pleased with herself, entirely unabashed. "I hope for a child. I hope his seed quickens today." She lowered her hand into the water and touched her abdomen. A crooked grin came to her lips. "Wouldn't Tyrion be so appalled? All his work on the line of succession undone," she jested.

"He would be thrilled," Jorah quickly corrected her. "He loves children."

"He's more excited about the twins," she said, nodding to the basket that was never far from her nowadays. Inside, two black eggs speckled with green and blue sparkled up at any lucky enough to behold them.

"Have you considered any names for them?" Jorah asked, strolling to the eggs, thankful for an excuse to not behold her in the bath. Though the queen was right that he'd seen her nude a dozen times or more, chivalry made him uncomfortable. They both knew that in years past the knight killed and risked his life for a moment as such. By now Jorah had proven his faithfulness to Baylee by denying Daenerys's drunken advances, but he couldn't entirely trust that the sight of the queen wouldn't arouse him.

The eggs twinkled in the sunlight and Jorah ran his hand across the shiny surface. He immediately drew his hand back and hissed in pain. They were burning hot.

A splash came from the tub. "You _felt_ them?" Daenerys exclaimed.

Jorah stared down at his fingers, now bright red. "Aye, I felt them," he replied. "I'll feel them for a few days, I think. Were the first eggs so warm?"

"Only to me." Dripping wet and still naked, Daenerys joined him at the basket and let her own hand rest on them. The bathwater still on her fingers turned to steam as she stroked the glossy black scales. She looked up to Jorah, mystified. "Even this morning Jon didn't feel them. A Targaryen," she added for effect.

Jorah looked down to his fingers. A slick burn mark graced three of his fingertips. "Well, I'm a Mormont. They burned me."

"Only the blood of the dragon can't be burned," she breathed. Staring at her general in wonder, Daenerys slowly nodded in realization. "How many years have you been with me? How many years have you served by my side, Ser Jorah?"

"Perhaps fifteen?" Jorah looked at the eggs and considered touching them again. Thinking better of it, he looked back to his queen. "Why?"

"They say Targaryens bond with the dragons because of our blood. There's magic in it, they say." She reached out and took Jorah's hand. "I've been with no other person in this world for as long as you. You're the closest thing I have to family."

Doubtful, Jorah took a step back. "Khaleesi, I don't think-"

"You must," Daenerys breathed. She turned and called inside, "Tasha, come out here, please?"

A handmaiden appeared a moment later, bowing before Ser Jorah. She hesitated for a moment, considering the fact that the queen was completely naked before the knight, but said nothing. "Your Grace?"

"Touch my dragon eggs and tell us what you feel, if you would."

Tasha planted her hands on the eggs and she chewed at her lip as she thought. Jorah wanted to urge her to be careful, but she spoke calmly and left her hands on the black and green egg. "Hard, cold, strong stone. Textured scales."

"Thank you, that will be all, Tasha," the queen said. Then she turned back to Jorah, beaming. "My Bear, my friend, my beloved Ser Jorah, I'm afraid spending so much time with me has inflicted you with Targaryen qualities."

Uncertain of what that meant for the future, Jorah nodded. He held a hand over the eggs and felt the heat coming off of them. "It seems so, Khaleesi."

"No longer will you be my bear, then," Daenerys smiled in a way Jorah had never seen before. "You're my Dragon Lord."

* * *

Baylee was tired of riding. She and Sansa had run out of things to chat about days ago. The king was brooding as usual, likely sullen at the thought of leaving Daenerys behind. Even the cheery guards had grown quiet and annoyed at the remaining three days left of the kingsroad.

The one member of their party completely unaffected by the dour mood was the princess. "We're going to have so much fun, _Magda_." Lylane hummed to herself for a moment. "We can go riding and play archery. Have you ever been to Winterfell?"

A walking party split around the horses, standing and bowing as King Jon passed. Sansa drew up her reins and slowed her horse.

"Of course, Your Grace," Baylee replied for show. "Since long before you were born it has been my home."

"Forgive my niece," Sansa threw in for good measure. "With her studies, she doesn't commit my ladies to memory. With the girls coming and going to often and new ones shifting in to replace those who have children, well, I can't blame her."

Baylee smiled down to an old man in rags. He made her sad; she imagined his life and wondered how he'd ended up in squalor and where his journey was taking him. Something on his face made her uncomfortable, and she quickly averted her gaze. Beside her, Sansa seemed to notice the same thing. The ladies exchanged nervous glances.

"Stay close, Lylane," Jon suddenly commanded back to his daughter.

Almost simultaneously, one of the men on the road spun and sank a dagger into a guard's lower back. He screamed and fell from his horse. An archer loosed an arrow. The attacker fell, but by then, the rest of the walkers had drawn weapons and .

"Swords!" Jon screamed. "Swords! Swords!"

Baylee drew her blade and made sure Sansa and Lylane were surrounded by Stark guards. Several hands grappled at her calf. She kicked out. The mare beneath her whinnied and bucked wildly, throwing Baylee to the ground. Coughing in the dirt, she looked up and found the commotion was mostly centered around the Starks. A young man was lifting Lylane from her horse. The girl screamed and thrashed. Feet away, other men were trying to pull Sansa from her horse.

"Stop!" Baylee hollered, plunging her blade into Lylane's attacker's back. His arms dropped to his sides and the body slid forward off of her sword.

A strong hand ripped the blade from her grasp and another pair of arms dragged her backward. Baylee squirmed out of the captor's hold and struck out, fiercely aiming a kick at another man's balls. He dropped to his knees, wheezing.

"Enough!" An ugly man snatched her by the hair and dragged her back into the trees.

Baylee struck out as best she could, landing several blows in the man's calves until someone stuffed a gag into her mouth and wrestled with her until he had her arms bound.

Once they were safely tucked into the woods, the ugly man pulled her to her feet, hand still wound in her hair. "Who are you that you'd be traveling with Snow and the Starks?" He sneered at her, studying her features.

As if to answer, frantic calls from Jon's men echoed through the trees. "Baylee!" "Lady Baylee!" "There's her horse!" "Lady Mormont? Can you hear us?"

The ugly man snarled. " _You?!"_ He dropped her to the ground. Black hair dye stained his brown gloves. He snarled at the darkness, smirked down at Baylee, then turned to his soldiers. "Gentlemen, I give you the Highgarden spy."


	18. Camp

"It's not betraying your vows," Tyrion scoffed. "It's just a brothel, Mormont."

Jorah sighed and stepped through the door into the loud, dark building. He'd been unable to dissuade Tyrion from the idea that he needed a night out to get his mind off of Baylee's journey north. Figuring he could get it over with and hear no more of it, Jorah begrudgingly agreed to a night of revelry.

Several girls immediately flocked to Tyrion, cooing and stroking his face. "Ladies," Tyrion calmed the women as they milled around him excitedly. "I've brought a friend!"

Two of the girls moved toward Jorah, but he shook his head. "I'm married. Happily."

A petite brunette giggled. "Lots of the men who come here are married, my lord." She stood on her tip toes and leaned on his chest. "It can be our secret. What other secrets do you have?"

Jorah's lip curled in disgust.

"Ah, there it is, the world famous Mormont glower," Tyrion laughed as the brunette rolled her eyes and stalked away. "Do lighten up! Girls, a drink, I think." They nodded and took their normal spots in a booth in the back of the pub after each fetching a tankard of ale. "Bronn will be joining us, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Jorah sighed. "I need a drink. The company is secondary." A dark-skinned girl passed by, flashing him a smile and brushing against him. He glared at Tyrion. "A simple pub couldn't do?"

"Not for me," a voice came.

"Bronn!" Tyrion cheered as the former sellsword sauntered into the brothel like he owned it.

"Now the drinking can start, aye?" Bronn exclaimed, clapping Tyrion on the back. He nodded to Jorah. "Mormont. I haven't seen you since the war. I hear you've got a hot young wife!" He winked. "Must have some appetite to still be running the whorehouses." He nodded. "Much respect. I hope to have half the stamina when I'm as old as you."

"Lady Baylee is pregnant," Tyrion added. "Quite ill." He almost looked at Jorah as if to confirm that was still the story, but refrained.

"Ah," Bronn nodded. "My wife's a dumb cunt. Like a dead fish in bed and not any good for conversation, either." He sighed. "But her family's rich. I'll have a child on her soon enough."

"As honorable as I recall," Jorah muttered.

A few beers later, the dark-skinned girl was on Bronn's lap, and a pair of redheads flanked Tyrion. The band in the corner played songs about beautiful women and Jorah sat in the midst of it, deep in his drink. He was pleased the evening whadn't turned out as bad as he'd predicted when a woman proved him wrong. A blonde slid into his lap, straddling him and nearly upsetting his ale.

"No," he tiredly sighed. "I'm only here to- _Lynesse?"_

There she was, wearing a deep purple dress that barely contained her breasts. Kohl smudged across her eyes gave her a sultry look. "Jorah," she whispered in his ear. "Please, there's a cruel man over there demanding my attention. Let me stay, just until he leaves." She wound her hands into his hair. "Just pretend, for the girl you loved at Lannisport. I beg you!"

Tyrion cleared his throat and shot Jorah a look. "I don't believe I've seen this beautiful woman here in trips past." He glanced at Bronn. "Why does Mormont get the new girls? And you were so dour about coming to a brothel, yet here they know you?" He pursed his lips. "I see why. You didn't want to share!"

"She's my ex wife," Jorah growled as Lynesse kissed his neck and swiveled her hips against him. He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. The weight of her on his lap wasn't unpleasant, but he scowled. "Stop this charade. I've no interest in whatever you're up to."

"Might not be a farce," Bronn commented, nodding toward the bar. An especially drunk man with his dagger drawn was searching the floor, shoving wenches out of the way as he called for Lynesse. A bar maid tried to calm him and he slashed out at her, leaving a red line across her upheld hands. A brawl broke out, but the drunkard emerged as victor. "Where'd she go? I'll kill the man what took her from me."

"Please, please pretend. Jorah, please." Genuine fear was in her voice. Lynesse grabbed his hand and pressed it to her breast before kissing him passionately, letting her hair fall down to cover her face. Her hips ground against him in a way he had nearly forgotten. Everything about the moment was a physical flashback to his youth. Lynesse Hightower had been so far above his station, yet now how their roles had reversed.

"You'd better be more convincing, Mormont," Tyrion's low voice came. "Our friend is coming."

Jorah glanced at Tyrion in annoyance, but saw the drunk out of the corner of his eye and heaved a sigh before embracing his ex wife and kissing her heartily, his hand wandering the length of her thigh. A soft moan came from her lips and vibrated against his and Jorah wondered how many men she had taken coin from in exchange for those sounds. Her hand ran down his torso and caressed his thigh. Now he groaned and shifted under her.

" _Give her to me!"_ the drunk slurred. _"_ You can have what's left of her. Either that or I slit her throat and I'll take her cold. _"_

Jorah looked up to find the man looming over them, a dangerous sneer painted across his ugly face. He staggered to the side, regained his balance, then jabbed a finger into the knight's shoulder. " _Let go of her._ Lynesse, come on. My coin's as good as this lord's." He reached for her again, then raised his dagger when she twitched away. _"Now, you dumb whore!"_

Lynesse shrieked and dove from Jorah's lap, crashing into Bronn, who instinctively wrapped a protective arm around her. The girls at the table squealed in terror and ducked for cover. In a split second between the girls' screams, Tyrion's swearing, and Bronn's jeering, Jorah made a decision. It only took one hard blow for the drunk to fall backward, out cold before he even hit the floor. A pair of scrawny guards immediately scuttled forward to drag the body outside, uttering words of thanks.

"Well done, old man," Bronn cheered. "Girls, another round of drinks!" Tyrion's redheads nodded and joined his girl in search for more ale.

"Thank you," Lynesse panted. She collapsed back onto the cushion. "Thank you, thank you." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and clutched her trembling hands.

Jorah leaned in. "What are you still doing in the city?"

Lynesse looked from Tyrion to Bronn, then back to Jorah.

"My lady," Tyrion sighed. "Surely you know who I am. I'm one of the Lord Commander's closest confidants." When Jorah raised an eyebrow, Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Fine. We work together in service of the queen. Surely your secrets are safe with me." He pointed to Bronn. "And that one is a knight."

"Fuck right I am," Bronn agreed, accepting a drink from one of the redheads and pulling her onto his lap. "You hear that? Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. You ever fucked a knight before?"

Lynesse moved back toward Jorah and leaned in. "He left me at the festival. I thought it was a mistake in the panic, but he never came back and hasn't sent word."

"Tregar Ormollen?" Jorah assumed.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "I heard you were his chief concubine. Why would he leave you here?"

"How dare you. I was his l _over,"_ she snapped. Subconsciously, she shimmied so that her breasts hung even more precariously over the top of her corset. "He was only married to that wretched woman for her family's ships. It's not like I'm the only woman who's been a mistress."

Bronn held up his tankard. "Hear, hear."

Ignoring him, Lynesse continued. "At the attack on the festival, we got separated. When I made it back to our pavilion, it was gone. He took my things: gowns, serving girls, my horse. No one would take me home when I begged at the docks. Tregar apparently put out an order to all his merchant ships to leave me here. I offered all _sorts_ of things and still they wouldn't let me aboard." Her disbelief was blatant.

"Perhaps they were looking for a younger sort of offering," Tyrion muttered.

Lynesse's mouth fell open, indignant. "You'll let this _dwarf_ speak to me like this?" She exclaimed to Jorah.

"I will," Jorah nodded. Her sadness touched him somewhat, but her foul attitude reminded him of the devastation she brought to his house. _If only I'd been wiser when I first saw her at Lannisport._

"Seems you're in demand," Bronn added. "I hear wenches do quite well for themselves. If someone would pay me to screw all day, I'd be a rich, happy man."

Lynesse ignored him and took Jorah's arm. "My darling, darling bear. What do I do? Can't you help me? You're Lord Commander for the Queensguard. Can't you spare a room at the palace?"

Jorah sneered and pulled away with a hostile jerk. "Why would I help you? I have done my chivalry. Now run to the next man with gold coin."

"I loved you," Lynesse said softly. "I did. You know I did. You're not a cruel man, Jorah."

"But you're a cruel woman." He took a long drink. "I'm here for a few drinks, not to relive the mistakes of my youth. Be on your way."

Tyrion raised his tankard once again. "Hear, hear!"

Lynesse turned and glared at him. "Don't you have _royal matters_ to attend to, Lannister? Or are you as worthless as the rest of your kin?"

"Enough," Jorah growled. "I serve the queen and my bride and none other."

"Where _is_ your bride?" Lynesse asked suspiciously. "I heard you got a child on her. It doesn't seem much like you to leave a pregnant wife home and go whoring." She took his tankard and drank. "Is she back on Bear Island, then, with those charming cousins of yours?"

"Fuck," Bronn choked into his drink. "Ex wife, eh? I hope you put her ass out with a temper like that, Mormont."

Her dark lips peeled away from her teeth in what could have been a snarl, but Lynesse forced it into a smile. "He's right. I should be kinder to you. You really did save me from that monster." She shuddered. "If you weren't so honorable, I'd give you a free night with me as thanks." A small twinkle set in her eye. "That's certainly one thing I miss about you, my bear."

* * *

Even with her pregnant belly, Baylee was groped and kissed, spit on and struck in camp that night. Tight bonds at her wrists rubbed her skin raw. The men, mostly older, perhaps of an age with her husband, regarded her with anger and suspicion and argued about what to do with her. Flaying? Ransoming? Passing her around before slitting her throat? All the while, she lie in the dirt, brainstorming her escape and dreading the next soldier's approach.

"My son is dead because of you," one growled as he passed her to make water. "Some Hightower. You betrayed your liege and got my son slaughtered by those ballless Unsullied at Casterly Rock." He spit at her.

Baylee said nothing. Her informing during the war had ended the lives of many Lannisters, and her recent spying no doubt revealed many more as rebels. He wasn't wrong.

"Your cunt dragon queen listened to your little whispers and now my son is dead. He was the last of my line." His lip curled. "Fuck you." He landed a hard kick in her stomach.

Baylee gasped and curled up, trying desperately to protect her baby. Pain throbbed through her entire pelvis. Her sword and daggers lay in some rebel's tent and she desperately wished for them.

"Leave her!" a younger man demanded as he pushed through the crowd of jeering soldiers. "Leave her be."

"What you want, boy?" the old man replied. "A turn?" He tried to kick again, but Baylee shrieked into her gag and rolled out of the way. Dirt sprayed into her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear it out. When her eyes had watered the dust out, she saw the young man looking down at her in concern. His brown hair and brown eyes were as plain as any man's, but the kindness in his face was a beacon to her. Pain may have been clouding her judgment, but at the moment she didn't care.

"Because she's a prisoner, that's why," he snapped. "You'd never treat your lady wife this way. Why's this woman any different?"

"You young men are all pussies," the old man barked. "I'd give my wife a kick if she deserved it."

Baylee saw the next kick coming and tried to dodge it. The boot caught her in the ribs as she rolled. She cried out at last. The men roared in delight.

" _Stop!_ " the young soldier cried. "Stop." Glancing at Baylee again and holding her gaze for a moment, the man huffed and marched toward the older man. "Fine. Fine. Forget that she's a person, fine. You know who her husband is, you twat?"

The older man snarled. "Aye. I'm not afraid of some pussy knight who hides behind a woman. Are you, Remy?"

"The Bear is a dragon rider, I heard." The young man, Remy, shuddered. "Once he hears we took his wife, he's going to fly here. Once he sees that you done roughed her up, he's going to fucking burn you to death."

Another man jeered. "Remy, you're afraid of the Bear Lord? Where's he at? He sent his wife to Winterfell! He doesn't give a shit about her."

"Maybe someone else got a child on her," another man called. "He left her to us. Ain' no one goin' to give us anything for her, no gold, no nothin'. I'll take a turn with her first." He pulled out his erect penis. "I ain' seen someone so pretty in _ages."_

A tall man strode through the crowd. He was young, but scars and weathered skin spoke of years crammed into his short life. Golden hair shone even in the moonlight. "I'll cut that off if you touch her with it," he snarled.

The soldier quickly tucked his member away and the others quieted immediately.

The tall man scanned his men and then looked back to Baylee. "You fools truly happened upon Lady Mormont? I didn't believe it when the rider came for me." He knelt before her, grinning handsomely. "Yet here you are. You're much different. Much, much different," he muttered, taking her chin in his hand. "I'm Tyrek Lannister. I trust you know my traitorous cousin."

Baylee squirmed away from him.

"Well done, you fools. Here she is, Lady Mormont in the flesh, and with child, nonetheless!" He patted her cheek and stood. "Her husband will give us anything we ask for her safe return." The man, nearly seven feet tall, smiled down at her. "Dyed hair. A commoner's dress. Your dear husband tried so very hard to move you safely north, didn't he? I'm quite excited to meet him when he comes riding in, shit, even _flying in_ to save you."

"It's not my husband you should worry about," she panted as her stomach bean to cramp. "I'll kill you myself."


	19. Blood of My Blood

It was pitch black and only the young man called Remy stood guard when Baylee realized she was miscarrying. Whether it was the blows to the abdomen or the stress of it all, thick blood soaked her lap. Angry tears blurred her vision. While the Lannister camp slept, Baylee lie in her blood in the dirt, swearing she could feel the moment when Jorah's child died inside her. The only comfort was that Remy had removed the gag from her mouth and she could breathe again.

"They're cruel," Remy sighed quietly. "I'm sorry." He stared into their small fire. "We may be rebelling against your queen, but most of us aren't bad men." His eyes squinted in the dark as he tried to read her. "The Mad King burned my grandfather alive. A Targaryen on the throne is dangerous, my lady. That's all."

Baylee bit her lip and tried not to cry out as powerful cramps contracted her entire torso. _What would Jorah do?_ she thought desperately. _Give them nothing._ Allowing the Lannisters the satisfaction at knowing their brutal treatment affected her was not something she was willing to give up.

Oblivious to her plight, Remy jabbered on. "The festival? That wasn't supposed to happen. The Lion forbade it, but the men went anyway. Those who made it out alive were tortured." He shuddered. "All those women, children, innocent people. Were you there?" When Baylee didn't answer, the soldier nodded. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine the things you saw. I wasn't there. I only heard about it after. It's like our rebellion has attracted the perverts, the monsters." Snorting, he stoked the fire. "The Lion spoke of Robert's Rebellion, and how they overthrew the Targaryens for the betterment of the realm. That's what this was supposed to be. Fair battle, not this outright cowardice and bloodshed." He stared up at the stars. "Our families are now traitors, tied to these dishonorable brutes."

A shockwave of pain rocketed through Baylee's gut. She gritted her teeth once more and groaned.

"What's wrong?" Remy asked as she writhed. He moved toward her. "Gods, you're bleeding." His eyes grew wide. "My lady, what-?"

"Leave me," Baylee hissed. _What does this boy know? He can't be more than eighteen._

Remy crouched next to her. A look of understanding passed his face. "Oh, my lady." He reached out for her but Baylee thrashed. "Please, please," he begged. "Let me help."

The flash of a blade caught her eye. Desperate to survive, Baylee thrashed violently, her bound legs flopping into the fire. Firewood and ember exploded upon contact. Flames caught the hem of her dress.

"No, no, no," Remy coughed, fanning the smoke from his face and dragging Baylee back from the blaze. He swatted at her flaming skirt until it was out. "Stop. I'm only trying to help. My wife lost a baby last year. Please. Here." He slid the dagger between her arms and cut her bonds and did the same to her ankles. "He isn't a maester, but one of our men can-"

"No," Baylee snapped. "I don't want those animals near me." Many women lost babies, but the blood on her thighs enraged her. Because of the rebels, her baby would never be born. A strained sob escaped her throat. _It isn't fair!_ Her lord husband would never cry before an enemy, but then again, neither had he lost a child in their midst. She had done everything right, but was no longer pregnant. She panted for a moment, then spat. "It's too late. The damage has been done."

Remy stared into the fire for a moment before nodding and softly saying, "Then we'll go."

Suspicious, Baylee didn't move.

"We'll go. Go to Winterfell to the maester. The bleeding isn't safe. My wife died from the bleeding, my lady." Remy nodded to himself, seemingly lost in memory. "Come. I'll see that you live."

Baylee slowly sat up. "This is a trap."

Remy shook his head. "Some things are more important than Houses and lineage. It's honor, Lady Mormont." Suddenly he stood and offered his hand. "I swear by the old gods and the new that I will deliver you safe to Winterfell." 

* * *

The bed was cool and comfortable, but Jorah could not sleep. Greyscale scarred skin stung and his mind wandered constantly. Baylee's pillow was in the crook of his arm, but it was no substitute for the warm body that usually held that place. Rolling over and closing his eyes again, Jorah wondered if Baylee was asleep. Moreso, he wondered if she missed him. Until he got word of her safety at Winterfell, thinking of her made him uneasy.

Jorah threw on a tunic and his boots and pushed open his chamber door. The guards were gone; with his wife out of the palace, there was no need for protection. He could handle anyone who came through his door.

The long empty hallway, with its ornate wall hangings and usual bustle, was empty and cold. This part of the palace held all of the royal chambers; Daenerys's, Grey Worm and Missandei's, his and Baylee's, Tyrion's, and only offered one way in. Guards didn't patrol the halls, but stood stationed outside the hall doors. Jorah was utterly alone.

Or so he thought. "What're you doing?" Daenerys Targaryen's voice came from nowhere.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah turned. "What are you doing out, and without a guard?"

Appearing out of a shadow, dressed only in a black sleeping gown, she moved like a shadow. She rolled her eyes. "You know these chambers are more impregnable than the Eyrie. Even though, I'm shocked you never tried to send me to Winterfell with Jon."

"I won't say I never thought about it," Jorah admitted. "Couldn't sleep?"

Daenerys smiled and touched his arm as she passed by. "Jon was here for two months, and now my bed is empty and cold. Sleep doesn't come easily anyway. What about you, my dragon lord?" Both of their voices were barely more than mumbles.

"I miss my wife," Jorah said. He sat heavily on a stone ledge that often served as a bench. Exhaustion clung to his joints and settled in his chest, but his mind raced and tripped over itself.

The queen sat next to him and let her head rest on the his shoulder. Silky silver hair trailed down his chest. "Then we shall be lonely together."

Jorah draped an arm around Daenerys's narrow waist. They settled together comfortably. By now her touch was familiar. Familial. Perhaps it always had been; he just hadn't understood his love for her.

"Years and years ago you told me we carry our ghosts with us," Daenerys sighed. "Sometimes I scarcely remember them. Viserys. Drogo. Rhaego. Viserion." Sadness seeped from her. "Then on nights I cannot sleep, they haunt me and send me pacing the halls." Her soft hand slid over his. "Varys. Sam Tarly's brother and father. All those other men whose lives I ended. Do you ever think of the men you killed?"

"No," Jorah replied softly, shocked by the timidness in her voice. It was a tone he hadn't heard for years, not since she was Drogo's new bride in the Great Grass Sea. Often he neglected how quickly she grew into a hardened ruler, spurred on by so many deaths in so little time. Awe filled him once again as he realized all she had done and overcome. "I killed for those I love. I still do." He rested his cheek against the top of her head. "Think of those you saved, Khaleesi. Do not focus on the dead. You told _me_ that if we look back, we are lost."

She _hmm_ ed in consideration. "Perhaps I do have a soft heart."

"Nothing wrong with that."

Soon they were as silent as the empty corridor, breathing in tandem. The queen's head rested heavier on Jorah's shoulder and she relaxed against him. Warm breath tickled his neck. For a time Jorah let her sleep. Ruling a country was exhausting work; he was not a royal, but felt the stress anyway. No doubt Daenerys felt the full brunt of it and could use the rest. The burden of the crown aged many rulers before her, but not the dragon queen. Daenerys was still a beauty. Wrinkles didn't dare crease her face, and not a single silver hair had turned white.

Jorah glanced down at the queen as she slept. The lust that once burned in him for her had fizzled out. He couldn't cite Baylee as the motivator for his sudden platonic affection; he'd had women even when he was wed to his first wife. The memory shamed him for a moment. _What has changed?_ Jorah puzzled as he noticed the queen's hand resting on his thigh. Something had simply fallen into place. Bedding the queen and receiving her romantic attention no longer tantalized him. Still, he loved her fiercely and would die a thousand deaths before he let any harm befall her.

And then he knew.

He truly was the blood of her blood.

"Khaleesi," he whispered, nudging her softly. "Your neck will smart tomorrow if you sleep like this for much longer. Come, I'll see you to bed."

"Hmm?" she hummed as she blinked awake. Daenerys slowly got to her feet and stretched. When she never apologized for falling asleep on him, Jorah smiled. _Because there is nothing to forgive between us._

"Tyrion and I are visiting the orphanages in the morning, you'll recall," Daenerys sighed sleepily. "Would you check on the twins for me midmorning?"

"Of course, Khaleesi."

A smile so sleepy it seemed drunk came to her lips. "Thank you, my bear. I'd be lost without you."

* * *

The clip clop of hooves stirred Baylee from darkness. _Had she been sleeping?_ She tried to check her bearings. She was on a horse, upright somehow. _How did she sleep in the saddle?_ Questions swirled through her fever dreams and she struggled to comprehend what was happening. Heaviness kept her eyelids closed and dizziness sent her falling forward.

Instead of hitting the ground, she jerked back upright. Someone was holding her on the horse, she realized thankfully when she didn't fall to the dirt. But who? Craning her neck around, she nearly toppled over sideways.

"Easy, easy," a kind voice soothed her. "Relax. We're not minutes from the gate. Help will be here soon. Hang on, just stay with me."

"Rewan?"

The handsome young man looked concerned as he continued to speak to her. Baylee didn't hear. The sight of him both sent joy and panic through her. Rewan had died in battle so many years ago, yet here he was, her first husband young and healthy again. "You're alive?" she breathed. She thought of handsome Rewan and faithful Jorah. What she'd do with two husbands, she wasn't sure. When Rewan spoke again, it wasn't her first husband at all, but some different young man. Blinking in confusion, she whispered, "Jorah?"

"Please, Lady Mormont needs a maester!" she heard the soldier yelling. "I'll throw down my sword. Please just open the gate!"

 **Author's Note: Great minds think alike. Just as I was editing this chapter, Diana reviewed and asked if the "blood of my blood" connection was there between Jorah and Khaleesi. I always thought so!**


	20. Blood Magic

The dragon eggs were so hot Jorah considered riding out for Daenerys, but when the first crack appeared, he knew his place was them – the royal children.

In all his life, he had seen life and death, death and life, over and over. None of it left him feeling insecure and uncertain, no matter how dire the battle or illness. The splintering black and navy egg changed that. He bolted inside, seeking someone, _anyone._ None else were in the queen's chambers when he'd entered to check on the eggs, and of course none had entered. Daenerys and Tyrion plus the rest of the queensguard were visiting the city's orphanages, as they did monthly. The handmaidens were who knew where and Grey Worm and Missandei were out of the palace on business.

"No, no, no," Jorah muttered. When he wracked his brain for someone else in the palace who would be fit to see the dragons hatch safely, not a single soul came to mind. "Who would Khaleesi want here?" he asked aloud. The first answer the popped into his head was hardly reassuring. _Me._

On the balcony, the eggs crunched and crackled. Jorah strode to them and peered into the wicker basket, praying Daenerys returned shortly.

Panic choked him as a crack spread along the second egg. His heart thudded out of time as old words resounded through his mind. _Only death can pay for life,_ Mirri Maz Duur once spoke. That was before she burned to death, giving life to Daenerys' first three dragons. Nausea washed over him. These were petrified dragon eggs as well. Who had died to give these life?

An angry chirp from inside one of the stones drew his attention back to the hatching. Something from inside the egg struck out, knocking a piece of the stone away. Another high pitched growl issued forth and one blue claw emerged from the opening, scratching around for something to hold onto. As fast as it had appeared, it withdrew back into the darkness of the egg.

Mesmerized, Jorah realized he'd been holding his breath.

Bit by bit, the eggs cracked open; the tiny dragons inside working feverishly to escape and be born. Finally, a long neck poked out of the first egg. Squinting into the light, the navy blue dragon cried out and pushed the rest of the shell out of the way.

Uncertain of what to do, Jorah reached down to the dragon. "There you are," he cooed. "Well done."

It eagerly climbed into his hand, chirruping. The dragon's scales shimmered blue with violet flecks. Heat radiated onto his skin and Jorah exhaled in wonder.

As if the dragon inside detected its twin's birth, the second egg rocked frantically. A green nose poked out of a tiny hole and hissed. The blue hissed back before clumsily clawing its way up Jorah's tunic sleeve.

"Come on," Jorah softly cooed to the second egg as it rattled. "You can do it. Come on."

Minutes later, a black and green dragon tumbled out, snarling at the egg pieces as they crunched under its tiny feet. A small wisp of steam rose from its nostrils as it barked angrily and swatted at the shell.

Jorah chuckled as pride swelled in his chest. "It's dead. You killed it. Come here, you little fool."

The dragon hopped into his hand, then turned and suspiciously glared at the egg before attempting a roar.

Suddenly the knight understood Daenerys' maternal love for the dragons. They were so small, yet already headstrong and with very obvious personalities. With the navy perched merrily on his shoulder and the green and black hiding angrily in the crook of his arm, Jorah sat and waited for the dragon queen.

* * *

Baylee Mormont looked like a corpse and Jon Snow halfway wondered if she'd truly be one by the end of the day. He also wondered if there was the slightest chance her lord husband would turn _him_ into one once he read word that his wife had been kidnapped and assaulted while under his protection. _"Shit,"_ Jon grumbled to himself.

"Maester Wynn said she'll be okay," Sansa's voice came. She passed Jon and perched on Baylee's bed. "She just needs to rest." Lady Stark touched Baylee's cheek. "She's not so warm anymore."

"She lost the baby," Jon assumed. The bloody pile of clothes tossed aside made that obvious.

Pursing her lips, Sansa nodded. "Yes." She quickly swiped a tear away before it could fall. "I sent word to King's Landing."

Jon swore. "How did they know she was with us?"

A band of Lannisters had been awaiting them on the Kingsroad. The Stark party narrowly escaped. Jon and his guard gutted most of the attackers, but several more escaped with Lady Mormont as hostage.

Sansa sighed. "Why Baylee? Why not me or one of my real ladies?" She, the rest of the women in the party, and most of the guards raced for Winterfell, while Jon and some of his kingsguard stayed and combed the woods, trying desperately to track the rebels and Baylee.

Jon scowled at the thought. Had Jorah Mormont kept to tradition and defended his wife instead of arming her with a blade, she wouldn't have gotten herself into trouble. _She could have ridden hard for Winterfell with Sansa and Lylane and they'd all be healthy._ For a moment he felt hypocritical for the thought since he gave his little sister Arya with a sword when she was a child, but then he pushed the thought away. _Arya was never a lady. She was born a warrior._

"At least she's well," Sansa said. "Ser Jorah will be so relieved."

He turned on her in angry amusement. "Relieved?! Mormont will be fucking furious. Enraged. Daenerys will be furious. Tyrion will be furious. They entire southern court will be furious." He kicked a chair. "These oathbreakers will succeed at putting at rift in the union between the North and King's Landing. Just when things were turning around, this had to happen."

"I'm glad you're being so compassionate for Lady Baylee, who just lost a child," Sansa sneered. "What of Remy?"

"Remy?"

Incredulous, Sansa rolled her eyes. "He brought her to us. He swore his allegiance to me and disavowed the rebellion. He only joined up with them because the Mad King killed his-"

"I don't care," Jon barked. "He's a traitor and there's no question as to his fate." His hand wandered to the hilt of Longclaw and he wished honor didn't dictate that he deliver the fatal blow of his sentence. Killing wore heavy on a man.

"He turned his back on the rebellion to save Baylee. She'd be dead if it wasn't for him." Sansa glared at him. "Loyalty to the crown deserved to be rewarded."

Jon scowled. Of course he cared for them all, but some days he wished he ruled alongside men and not so many women. Sansa was overly fond of Baylee. Daenerys didn't enjoy sharing power was hard to rule beside. Even Arya, his favorite sister, was too fiercely devoted to the family and had done monstrous things with her soldiers. "Just because he saved her doesn't mean this Remy is trustworthy," Jon explained gruffly. "He's broken faith with the crown _and_ with the rebellion! There's no other side for him to take that he hasn't betrayed. He'll be executed in the morning. Either that or he'll take the Black."

"Please," Sansa begged. "Let Baylee wake and tell us about him first. You don't know the reach of his valiance."

"Fine," Jon groaned. "You know Daenerys would have him executed, as well. She'd not even give him until the morning."

"Fortunately Daenerys does not rule the North," Sansa replied shortly.

* * *

Down in the dungeons, the man called Remy was sullenly staring at his boots, awaiting his fate. He was a lion rebel and the son of a lord, Jon had learned. Remy of House Lorch. Not a bad House, just one that was loyal to the Lannisters.

Jon cleared his throat. "So you risked your life to save Lady Mormont."

Startled, Remy scrambled to his feet and bowed. "Your Grace."

"Your Grace?" Jon scoffed. "I thought I wasn't your king."

"I was wrong," Remy replied. "Stupid and wrong." He hung his wrists on the cell bars. "You're a Targaryen, aren't you? They told us all Targaryens were the same. We believed them. But you're nothing like the Mad King."

Jon frowned. "No, I'm nothing like the Mad King."

Remy nodded. "Of course. Your Grace, I know what awaits me on the morrow." His voice was sorrowful and hoarse. "I only ask that you tell me whether Lady Mormont lives."

"Why did you bring her here?"

The man sighed, obviously irritated that Jon hadn't answered his question. "My own wife died when our babe died in her belly. There was so much blood, too much. Lady Mormont was bleeding just the same. I couldn't save my Hannah, but I could save this one." By now, his eyes were misty and his voice was strained. "And if I could save her husband the pain I feel every day? I just had to, Your Grace. None deserve the pain of losing their entire family, their future at once."

Jon understood why Sansa fought for the soldier. This Remy seemed noble enough; the thing of songs and tales Lady Stark loved so well. The king refused to be bought so easily. "Yet you didn't stop them from beatin' her and killin' her child. You didn' stop the attack on the kingsroad. What of my daughter? You'd see her killed?"

"No, Your Grace," Remy admitted in horror. "I had no part in it. I know that doesn't clear my name. I didn't stop it. I couldn't. I tried, though." His eyes had fallen back to his boots. "Does the lady live? Please." The soldier swallowed hard and waited with intense suspense.

"Aye," Jon answered at last. "Lady Mormont lives." He watched in surprise as tears of relief streamed down the man's face. "Lady Stark has a soft heart. She requests that your execution for treason be delayed until Lady Mormont can testify to your actions and character." Jon studied the man. "If I were you, I might wish for execution. I expect Lord Commander Mormont in a day."

"A day?" Remy asked, blinking tears away. "King's Landing is days' ride."

"Depends on what you're riding, Jon replied.

Remy's eyes were wide with something like admiration or horror when Jon turned and left him alone in the dungeon.

* * *

The pups hissed at each other almost constantly. _Sisters,_ Jorah mused to himself. _Typical._ The dragons seemed to enjoy each other's company, but only from afar. The navy was exploring the basket that served as their cradle, but the black and green had been napping on the cushions and snarled once the navy hopped inside.

Hours had passed since the dragons pecked their way into the world. Jorah remained on the balcony, blissfully uninterested in what was happening in the palace. Daenerys was due back any moment. The thought of the queen coming in and scooping up the dragons disappointed him. Once the pups climbed into her arms, she'd never let them go.

Tired of her sister, the black and green dragon stalked back to Jorah. An urgent bark told Jorah exactly what she wanted. He lowered his hand and she climbed on, starting to sing as she scampered up his sleeve. The blue bounded out of the basket and flicked her tail back and forth. She chirped at Jorah. Before he could lower his hand again, the green snarled down at her from his shoulder.

He chuckled. "Now, now," he scolded the green. "I'll have none of that."

The tiny dragon cocked its head as if she understood. Suddenly she whipped her head around and hissed at the door.

Daenerys stood in shock in the doorway, staring onto the balcony. "I can't believe it," she breathed. "My children. I wasn't here."

"They're extraordinary," Jorah breathed, not tearing his eyes from them. "Two females. The navy is sweet and adventurous, but her sister is more suspicious. More reserved."

"My children," Daenerys repeated, rushing over and kneeling beside him. "Come here, oh, they're beautiful!" Her voice was a squeal. "My beautiful twins!"

The navy snuffled at her gown before clumsily clawing her way up the fabric. Daenerys cooed and stroked the dragon's head. It sang to her, a beautiful, haunting melody. Somehow it broke Jorah's heart. _You're no Targaryen,_ he reminded himself. _You serve the mother of dragons._

Daenerys reached for the green and black on Jorah's shoulder, but it hissed at her. Her eyes widened in surprise. "I am your mother, sweetling." She reached out again. This time, the dragon huffed and crawled into Jorah's collar, peeking out from his shirt with what seemed to be a scowl.

Jorah glanced up at her, both worried about what she was thinking and unwilling to hand the pup over. "Khaleesi, I-"

But the queen laughed, held up a hand to silence him, and stroked her own pup. "I _told you_ you'd become my dragon lord!" Beaming but with tears beginning to spill down her cheeks in joy, she clutched his hand. "I never thought anyone would understand. The other Targaryens had brothers, sisters, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers and dragons they all shared."

The green and black peeked out of his collar and hissed at her sister, who chirped in response.

"Ser Jorah, you have always been the blood of my blood." She kissed him then lightly on the lips. "The dragons prove it."

The green dragon emerged from his shirt and coiled its tail around Jorah's neck. It sang out, but then her sister joined, immediately stopped and growled. "What shall you name them?" Jorah asked.

"I think I only have one dragon to name," she smiled, stroking the navy. "That one seems to be yours."

"Khaleesi," Jorah breathed. "You are the mother of dragons. A dragon cannot be _mine._ Perhaps Jon, or-"

"You are my dragon lord. You felt their heat. They hatched for _you._ The dragons are indifferent to Jon, but they've loved you their entire lives." The blue dragon hopped down her arm like a bird and kept singing. "I haven't a clue what to call her. But that one very much seems to have chosen you." To prove her point, Daenerys reached out again for the green.

This time, the dragon sniffed at her briefly before scuttling down Jorah's arm and hiding behind him.

"I trust you entirely. My children trust you entirely." Daenerys smiled. "You shall never leave my side or harm my children in any way. She is yours."

Jorah's heart was simultaneously breaking and soaring when the pups both hissed at a raven.

"Oh?" Daenerys muttered, standing and accepting the scroll from the bird.

"Birds fly directly to you, Khaleesi?" Jorah asked suspiciously.

"Yes, from Jon," she replied. Her joy turned to dismay as her violet eyes skimmed the words.

"Khaleesi?"

"We must go to Winterfell. Now. We must fly."


	21. Winterfell

Westeros had never seemed so small. In just a matter of hours, Jorah had seen nearly all of it pass under him. Lush green leaves and grasses of spring faded into frosty white and grey as the dragon rider traveled further and further north. Between his knees Rhaegal steadily flew onward, apparently sensing Jorah's urgency. The dragon hadn't slowed an iota since he taking off from King's Landing. The cold air felt good on his face. In his haste Jorah hadn't donned winter clothing, but it was exhilarating. He was of the north; Bear Island lay much further north than Winterfell, even. He was going home.

The green and black dragon pup was curled in Jorah's jerkin, pleased enough to be with him. The height didn't bother her. Occasionally she peeked out from his shirt collar and peered around sleepily before sighing and settling back in. When word from Winterfell first arrived, Jorah tried to set the dragon back in her basket but she screamed, hissed, and dug her claws into Jorah's arm. Daenerys had only watched with slight concern as Jorah hurried from the balcony in search of Rhaegal, the tiny pup clinging to his sleeve.

He imagined Drogon and Daenerys wouldn't be far behind. She'd called something after him as Rhaegal's powerful wings beat the air and lifted them skyward, but Jorah hadn't heard.

Sansa was helping Baylee wash the remaining black dye from her hair when Jorah burst through the door to Lady Stark's chambers.

"My lord," the maester's gravelly voice called after him. "I told you, the king said to bring you straight to him when you arrived! Please, my lord commander!"

"It's all right," Sansa called back, waving him off as Jorah dropped to his knees beside Baylee. "I'll take him to Jon myself. Thank you, Maester."

The maester fretted for a moment before mumbling a "m'lady" and shuffling away.

"Are you hurt?" Jorah breathed. Dark circles hung under Baylee's eyes, but otherwise she looked the image of health. He expected bruises, open wounds. The knight was somewhat surprised to find her unmaimed. _Unseen injuries, invisible hurts,_ he reminded himself. There was a chill in the air that set goosebumps along his arms.

"I'm well, my lord," she replied coolly. "You worried that the northmen would try to woo me, so you traveled all this way? How very charming. I wondered if you might pay me a visit, but on my first day here? Well." Baylee batted her eyes in jest, then rolled them. "I've survived well enough. You didn't need to fly here."

Sansa snorted and wrung out a towel into the wash basin. Black water trickled down her wrists. "She's been a delight all day, I'll have you know," she sighed to Jorah.

"Baylee," Jorah said solemnly, his voice barely audible. "I sent you from me. You could have been killed, and our child-" He shook his head and took her hands in his. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not anymore," she confirmed nonchalantly as if he'd asked what was for dinner. "I shall have my revenge on the man who killed my baby. I remember his face." She tugged at the towel draped over her shoulders and began to squeeze a wet lock of hair. The towel came away from it black. "I'm excited to not need this disguise anymore, at least. Everyone here knows who I am, so what's the point?"

Jorah shook his head. "My lady, I'll have them all, I swear it. Each and every head shall be staked -"

Baylee turned back to him and narrowed her eyes. "Not all of these young lordlings deserve such a terrible death. Some of them are simply on the wrong side of things."

Something in her demeanor troubled him. A soft chirp in his ear distracted him from the worry. The green and black, whose name he still hadn't decided, crawled out from his shirt and was perched on his shoulder. It chirped once again when Jorah looked to it. He reached for the pup and smiled when she scuttled into his hand.

Sansa blinked in disbelief. "Daenerys let you bring a dragon here? When did she get babies?"

"I brought two dragons, actually," Jorah replied. "Rhaegal is outside. As for her? She was one of the twin eggs brought in by people Daenerys freed across the Narrow Sea. She has the sister. This one," he hesitated, "chose me."

Baylee laughed. "Chose you? As if the dragon queen would freely give her _children_ to her queensguards." She rolled her eyes. "I've seen what happens when she has to share her _men._ " She shot him a look. "But her dragons? I think not."

"I was the only one there when they hatched. Her sister wanted Daenerys. This one wanted nothing to do with her. She'll allow no one to touch her, save me." He stroked the dragon under the chin and she began to sing.

"Well, it seems the gods have found fit that you'll have something to raise, if not a baby," Baylee scoffed.

 _Only death can pay for life._

 _T_ he dragon pup curled its tail around Jorah's wrist and continued its song. He watched in a stupor. The women seemed strangely cold, the dragon was surprisingly calm, and Jorah suddenly regarded them all with loathing. "No," he hissed mournfully. "No, no!" The dragonsong stopped. The green and black, sensing his rage, laid her ears flat and hissed. Sansa and Baylee tittered gleefully.

"The baby. The eggs. No." Jorah tried to take the dragon from his hand, but again, it clung to his sleeve and nipped at him when he attempted to rip it away.

"What does the baby have to do with the eggs?" Baylee asked. "You surely can't think-"

"Khaleesi. I need to speak to Khaleesi," Jorah burst, storming from the room.

* * *

All eyes snapped to Jorah when he entered the great hall. Daenerys, Tyrion, and Grey Worm had just arrived on Drogon. Jon and Bran represented Winterfell. Before the table knelt a prisoner.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys greeted him. "How is your wife?"

"She's, she's fine," Jorah stuttered. He longed- _needed –_ to talk to the queen about the dragons and Mirri Maz Durr's curse, but now wasn't the time. The green dragon fluttered down from his shoulder into a basket on the floor where her navy sister slept. He took his place behind the queen, mind fuzzy with emotion and disbelief. "Is this the rebel?" Jorah asked, his voice a low purr.

Remy quickly looked down. "M'lord."

"That's Lord Commander Mormont, boy," Tyrion interrupted. Jon shifted uncomfortably at the title.

"Lord Commander Mormont," Remy repeated. "Forgive me."

Jorah looked down at the young man, noting how handsome he was. _He would have made someone a good husband. Now he'll meet Longclaw._ A rebel though he was, the man was also naive and foolish. People had been killed for less, though, and killed because of his actions, more than likely. Jorah spoke kindly. "I understand you abandoned your men to assist my wife." His calmness caught the young soldier off guard, but Jorah continued. "Why? You know of her service to the queen in direct opposition to your rebellion."

"The Higharden spy," Remy confirmed. "I know. She was quite maddening during the war, I'm told." The young man looked Jorah square in the eye. "This is messier than I expected. I'm the son of a lord. There is no honor in those who work to overthrow Daenerys Targaryen. The festival – one of them bragged about killing a young girl and, and-" Remy shook his head. "They're monsters. I saved Lady Mormont because it was the right thing to do. Now, should I be spared the justice I know I deserve, I'll do all in my power to stop the Lannisters."

"Save but this one," Tyrion quipped. "I understand these men may be leftover Lannister bannermen, but I would prefer we call them-"

"A Lannister leads them," Remy interrupted.

"Who?" Tyrion scoffed. "They're all dead, save me."

"Tyrek Lannister. He calls himself the Lion," Remy explained.

The dwarf's face went pale. "We thought him dead." Tyrion took a long drink. "An imposter, surely." He shook his head and waved his hand, yet no color returned to his cheeks.

Remy frowned, indignant. "No. He and the blonde lady don't often join the men, but I have see him very much alive. Looks just like Jamie Lannister, but younger. And they're planning to strike the queen soon."

Jon stood suddenly, nearly upsetting the table. "You swore your service to the crown, Houses Stark and Targaryen. You will tell us everything you know. As a reward, once the rebellion is successfully dead, you'll have your freedom. I swear it. Now tell us everything there is to tell of this plot against the queen."

Hours later, Remy was still answering questions. Jorah was poring over his notes when something Remy said caught his attention and made him whip his neck up so quickly it popped. "Say that again?"

"She calls herself the Maiden Fair. You know," Remy added, "like that song, the Bear and the Maiden Fair?" The young man brushed the hair back from his eyes. "Is the blonde woman someone of interest? I know little of her, but can try to recall what I can."

Grey Worm scowled and Jon looked just as annoyed to have missed something. Tyrion, though, breathed a soft "Oh," and sat back, casting a look of pity toward the knight. "Mormont," Tyrion said slowly. "Perhaps it's not her."

The run-ins, the questions, the suspicion he had regarding Lynesse suddenly clicked. "What more of her? What does she look like? What does she wear? How does she speak?" Jorah growled. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm.

"The Maiden Fair: she's older, but beautiful. Or she was once. She speaks like a highborn, but doesn't act like one. She's quite friendly with the men. Not like ladies, you know, who keep to themselves and pretend to be so shy. She never gives orders, but none dare disrespect her or the Lion will have their tongue." Remy looked around the table anxiously. "You know her, Lord Commander?"

"Aye, I know her. I was married to her."

* * *

When the questioning finally dwindled to a close, Jorah leaned over the queen's shoulder. "I need a word."

They walked together toward their guest chambers slowly, dragons riding in their basket in the knight's arms. Jorah spoke his suspicions about the eggs and Baylee's baby, and she grimaced. "That was only in the case of Drogo. I was trying to save him. _That_ was the blood magic. It simply could not still be affecting things." Still, she looked uneasy. "The eggs grew warm even as your child lived. We both felt them."

"As happened with your child and the first three eggs," Jorah muttered.

"An external force took your child. The dragons weren't there," Daenerys argued. Still, she sniffled and brought her fingertips to her face. "What have I done? That one choice has brought ruin to those I love." With a heavy sigh, looked into the basket in Jorah's hands. "We shall summon a maegi. We must know the truth of it. My bear, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "May it be you're right and it was a coincidence." Jorah looked down to the dragons. For once, the navy and green were curled up together. "It cannot be changed now." The smell of fresh baked bread rising from the kitchen cheered him somewhat. "I expected to collect my empty shell of a wife here, yet I come and find her in good spirits and learn that my former wife is perhaps key to ending the rebellion." He took a deep breath and further enjoyed the aroma. "Perhaps not all is lost, Khaleesi."

"Life will go back to normal. We'll go home. Everything will be all right," the queen promised, squeezing Jorah's hand.

"No," Jorah shook his head. "Normal, I think not. Better."


	22. Vedros

The woman's eyes were narrowed as if they dared any to defy her. Jorah did. "What good will come from you seeing him?"

"Why does anything have to come of it?" Baylee snapped as she braided her hair. She looked at her reflection carefully as she wove the strands. She was joined in her temporary chambers in Winterfell by Jorah and King Jon. "I'll see Remy," she told them. "It's because of me he's here. He swore his service to _me_ first and foremost, not to Winterfell. He's my man and I've already sent for him."

Jon stepped forward. "It's a bad idea, Lady Mormont."

"Ah, here he is!" Baylee exclaimed as a Stark guard brought Remy in. They'd spared him shackles, at Jon's command, but still kept a close eye on him. The guard was loath to leave Remy there when Baylee excused him.

"M'lady." Remy dropped to both knees. "You're well. I'm happy for it. You look infinitely better than the last I saw you." He gingerly took her hand and kissed it. "I'm so sorry."

"You have my gratitude forever." Baylee pulled him to his feet. "Has this place treated you well?"

Jon bristled then glanced to Jorah, who gave him a look that said _I have no idea_.

Remy nodded. "Far better than I deserve. His Grace spared my life." The soldier bowed his head to Jon. "Anything beyond that is, well, it doesn't matter if I had to sleep in the kennels," he laughed. "Having your life given back to you after forfeiting it willingly? Feels incredible."

Giggling, Baylee nodded. "I know the feeling, Rewan."

Jorah sucked in a breath. Rewan was Baylee's first husband, slain in battle only months after their wedding. He couldn't help but wonder if she was falling for this man, her personal savior. As thankful as he was, Jorah was jealous all the same. The prestige of King's Landing that had been offered to Baylee as a perk of marriage to him had worn dull and revealed itself as dangerous. The knight was certain another wife was slipping away. "Remy," he corrected her softly.

The soldier shifted awkwardly and chuckled.

"I called you Rewan, didn't I?" Baylee blinked a few times.

"You did when you were ill, as well," Remy shrugged. "It's all right, m'lady. Remy's not a common name."

"I don't recall much, but I do remember that. My first husband looked like you somewhat. I thought he'd come to save me. I'm sorry. How foolish of me."

"It's not a worry, Lady Mormont."

She smiled. "Please, _Baylee_. You saved my life. There's no need for titles."

"How long do you intend to stay in Winterfell?" Remy asked, turning to include Jorah as well.

"We'll leave in the morning." Jorah nodded. "There's much work to do with the information you provided us." He nodded. "Thank you."

"You will stay here in Winterfell for the time being," Jon added to the soldier. "We'll decide what to do with you later, after your information is proven to be true or false."

"What? The rebellion isn't over," Baylee said hesitantly. "I was to stay here until it ended. For my safety. You said so yourself." Disappointment was creeping into her eyes.

"The worst has happened," the old knight shrugged. "I sent you North to keep you and the baby safe. You're not delicate and ill with child any longer. We'll continue lessons and you can defend yourself all the better." Jorah smiled sadly. "A sorry consolation prize, I know."

"A prize?" she exclaimed. Her anger exploded then. "That place is _no_ type of prize. I won't go back to King's Landing and sit in my chambers or be paraded around. Before I married you, I was a spy. Before that, I worked in Highgarden. I don't _like_ being a proper lady, sitting there being worthless and no good to anyone."

"Then do as you please," Jorah laughed in surprise. "I never bade you sit at home and-"

Baylee stalked toward him and jabbed a finger at his chest accusingly. "You never made it easier for me. You never stopped the stares and the chatter when I was out without an escort." Her lip twitched. "I won't go back there. Sansa said there would be work for me here. I could train as a soldier. I could spy here where no one knows me. Purpose! Not some old man's stupid wife." There was no trace of remorse on her face. She looked to Jon. "Sansa agreed to this, and said you did, as well."

Remy's gaze was fixed on the far window, but Jon looked to Jorah, a slightly apologetic frown at his lips. "I thought Sansa had told you," he muttered.

Jorah took a breath. _And there she goes. I've lost her, too._ It was almost a relief. Baylee had always seemed a bit like a lioness in captivity to him. Her first marriage was cut painfully short. She served Daenerys and acted on her own desires. Now in King's Landing, even with Daenerys smashing through patriarchal traditions, Baylee was too constrained, too confined to be happy. A woman amid lords and knights was never to be taken seriously.

"I serve the queen," Jorah replied calmly. "The queen resides in King's Landing."

"Then go to King's Landing. I'll stay here." Baylee looked to the king. "Right?"

"Let's go," Jon barked to Remy. "This is a matter for man and wife. Come along."

Remy bowed quickly before turning from the room. After they'd left, Jorah sighed and sat at the foot of the bed. He loved Baylee, to be sure, but felt the relationship beginning to grow thin. Whether she resented him for putting an end to her service as a spy or if she was disappointed in his aching body, Baylee was obviously no longer interested in their marriage. The rest of his life in her company would have been fine, but Jorah knew he could live without her, too. Feeling guilty for being relieved, he silently vowed to do what he could to make her happy. "Baylee. The queen ordered our marriage." He raised an eyebrow. "You think it wise to decide to be done with it without so much consulting her?"

"I need a new life!" she screeched suddenly. Tears flowed from her eyes and her cheeks flushed. "You don't know what it's like to lose a child! I need something new! How can I go back to what it was? That life was waiting for a child. Now I don't have one." Her sleeves served as handkerchiefs. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" Jorah asked softly. "I was there when the queen's child was born a monster. I was there when my first wife died in her bed after losing her third child. I was there the first two times, as well." He was surprised when her expression didn't soften. "I understand that you want a new life, Baylee."

"Then why are you trying to keep me?" Baylee gritted her teeth. "Maybe if I was twenty years older or had no prospects, but I _do._ I would have had a child and been a mother and that would have been purpose enough, but I'm not." She shook her head and threw her hands in the air. " _I don't know."_

"Your life is yours to live," Jorah replied. He bowed formally. "I'll leave in the morning. You're welcome by my side, but I won't look for you."

* * *

A Stark man cleared his throat and announced the guest. "Lord Commander Mormont, Your Grace."

Jon's face went as white as Ghost. He put his quill down and stood, his face twisting with confusion when he beheld Jorah. "Gods, I can't take you for Lord Commander Mormont," he muttered, embarrassed as Daenerys laughed from her spot opposite him. "I always expect the Old Bear when I hear that." The king promptly sat back at his desk. "Ser Jorah, if that's all right."

"Aye," Jorah nodded. "Have you told her?"

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Told me what?"

Jon shook his head. "No."

"Ah." Jorah wondered what the queen would say of Baylee staying at Winterfell. Perhaps she'd deny the request. Maybe she would annul their marriage on the spot.

"What's all this?" Daenerys frowned. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Jorah answered quickly. "Baylee wishes to remain in Winterfell. She needs a change of scenery, as it were."

"Oh," she replied softly. Lilac eyes locked on his. "How do you feel about that?"

"If my wife doesn't wish to return with me, I can scarcely force her."

"If I bade her come, she'll have to come." Daenerys sat back and bit at the inside of her lip. "But then she wouldn't be happy, and wouldn't be making you a happy home." She glanced at Jon, then nodded. "I'll grant an annulment, if that's what you ask."

"I- not yet," Jorah sighed. "It's been a hard year for her; the attacks, spying, losing the baby. Perhaps she just needs time away to process her grief." He set a grim smile on his face and immediately knew the queen wasn't buying it.

"You simply tell me what you require and I shall grant it," Daenerys said. "Anything."

"Thank you, Khaleesi, Your Grace." Before he turned to leave, the navy and black dragon began to sing from her cage in the corner.

His dragon chirped and crawled out of his jerkin pocket, causing Jon to laugh. "The Old Bear would have a laugh at that." Jon said, a grin playing at his lips. "That damn raven of his was never far away. Always screaming some nonsense. I'm sure the next time I see Lady Lyanna, she'll have a bear on a leash behind her. Your house is one of bold, surprising people."

"You're right, Your Grace. Lyanna _does_ have a bear. It's just a cub." Jorah grinned. "Perhaps one day she'll ride it into battle."

Jon snorted.

"Have you thought of a name?" Daenerys smiled. "The blue is Idana."

" _The twin,_ " Jorah nodded. "Fitting." He reached for the green and black. She eagerly hopped onto his hand and looked this way and that, studying the room. Spotting the candles burning on the table, she flicked her tongue in interest. The flames entranced her and she teetered to the edge of the knight's fingers, sitting and watching the orange tongues lick upward. After a moment, the pup chirped back at him and unfurled her tail from his wrist, but Jorah replied, "I don't believe that's a good idea." Daenerys and Jon chuckled as the dragon hissed and curled up in a ball to pout.

Jorah scooped the dragon into a ball and set her on his shoulder. She climbed on, but immediately furled back up, tucking her nose into her wings, still annoyed. "I call her Vedros, but I wanted to run the name by you, Khaleesi."

Daenerys's face burst into a wide amused smile, but Jon shook his head. "Valyrian?" he asked. "What's it mean?"

Jorah raised his eyebrow at the pouting dragon pup. "Angry."

* * *

The next morning, Vedros sat perched on one of Rhaegal's horns. A thin wisp of steam rose from her nostrils and she growled at something. Beside her, gargantuan Drogon glanced down at her in mild interest. Vedros snarled and flicked her tail, focused on something by the gate.

"Oh, hush," Jorah chuckled as he strapped the last of the queen's bags together and hooked them on a device strapped around one of Drogon's spikes. "You won't want to be picking a fight with your brothers, little one."

Still, Vedros snarled and yipped.

The source of her anger revealed itself. "You'd have been a good father," Baylee's voice came. She strode toward the dragons and stopped a few yards away. "But I guess that's just not what the gods want."

"No, they must not see fit." He studied her. Young. Strong. Beautiful. Fit for life in the north, perhaps. _That's what she's decided, anyway._ "I'll be off. Should you ever decide to return to me, send word and I'll fly north. It's a much easier trip than taking the kingsroad."

"I have loved you," Baylee said as she slowly came forward to take Jorah's hand. "You must know I only want to stay here to forget these feelings. To move past them. To be whole again. It might not seem like it, but I feel split in two after those rebels-"

"I know. I do." The past tense of her words cut him and he had to force a kind smile. He placed a gentle kiss on her hand. "I'm sorry, Baylee."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," Baylee sighed. "Life is strange. This is just for a time. I'll return to you."

"Of course." As he collected Vedros and climbed onto Rhaegal, he wondered if he would see the woman again. She waved, then turned back for the castle.

Daenerys arrived not long after. "Shall we go home, my dragon lord?"

Jorah nodded. "Let's go home."


	23. Snow and Dragonfire

The snow swirled outside. Big fluffy snowflakes dotted mens' cloaks, horses' manes, and the ground. Soon everything would be coated with pristine white. She took it for granted as a child, but now Sansa sat at her desk and watched the snowflakes twirl and blow through the air. Serenity settled in her heart and set everything right.

"Lady St _aaaa_ rk," a voice came.

"What're _you_ doing home?" Sansa asked, turning to find her younger sister Arya shaking snow out of her dark hair. "I thought you were out hunting rebels." She smiled and reached out for a hug.

Arya begrudgingly accepted.

Sansa embraced her and pretended not to notice the smell; it was what their father smelled like after war. Sweat, blood, grime. "I'm glad you're still in one piece."

"You worry too much. Like Mother." Arya nodded. "Rebels? Ha! Got 'em all. There's none left in the North." She sat on the edge of the desk and looked out the window. "Who're you watching? Finally take a fancy for someone?"

"Someone here? Not likely," Sansa scoffed. Squinting through the snow, she shrugged. Blurry bodies moved about; blobs of grey and brown amid the white. "I can't even see who's out there."

"Jon and that southern woman, your friend," Arya said. "Just passed them. They're quite friendly." She pressed her nose to the glass. "There, see?" She pointed to the parapet.

Sansa stepped around the desk and looked closer. "What do you mean friendly?"

"See for yourself."

Two figures moved together on the parapet. A long black cloak flapped in the wind. Beside the man who wore it, a woman in a fur cap strolled, her body language easy. She threw her head back and laughed at something, then touched the man's shoulder. He caught his cloak and threw it about her shoulders before pulling her into his side.

Her stomach dropped. Sansa shook her head. "They know each other, they're just friends from court," she dismissed.

"That's now what I do with my friends," Arya chuckled, her eyes still focused on the couple on the parapet. She _ooohed_ and chuckled as the silhouettes in the snow pressed their faces together.

"No," Sansa gasped, whirling away from the window so fast she knocked into the desk. A candle fell out of its holder and went out. "That's Ser Jorah's lady wife. She loves him. I know it. I've seen them!"

"Oh, that's right," Arya nodded. "Lady Mormont. Father would _not_ be happy you're harboring a Mormont." She turned away from the window. "Or that Jon's sucking the face of one." Her nose wrinkled as she giggled. "Oh, come on. These marriages never mean much, anyway. It's not like your songs. You should see what my soldiers do when they're away from their wives. Some of them, at least."

"No, no, no." Sansa squeezed her eyes shut. "This is horrible. Her lord husband will be devastated. And you _know_ Daenerys is already mad Jon married Freya. If he doesn't give her a chance first, well." She chewed at her bottom lip. "I hate this! I must tell Ser Jorah. He's a good man. He deserves to know. Right? But Baylee's my friend." Reaching for a piece of parchment, she shook her head. "Should I give her a chance first? To explain herself?"

Arya snatched the quill from Sansa's hand. "What, you're going to sell out your brother?"

"No, I'm just going to," she trailed off. Arguing that Jon was only her cousin was no good. Arya wouldn't hear it. "I'd want to know if my husband was friendly with someone else. Right?"

Sighing, Arya headed for the door. "Lord Baelish taught me one thing. In the game of thrones, you win or you die. Best not to play their games, Lady Stark. Let Jon do what Jon's going to do. He's not married to Daenerys. _He's_ not doing anything wrong. And Lady Mormont, well, she's just a lord's wife, so it's not like her husband can say anything about it. She's with a _king._ " She shrugged. "There. Feel better? Good. See you at supper."

Sansa watched her sister leave. Though she knew better, she turned back to the window. Jon and Baylee were ducking through a doorway together. The heartbreak she felt was surely nothing compared to what Queen Daenerys and Ser Jorah would feel. She picked up her quill.

* * *

The weight of the sword felt good in Jorah's hand. His back and shoulders had gotten a workout. Stretching, the lord commander grinned. There was nothing like battle to make you feel alive. Somewhere on the other side of camp, Bronn was certainly looking for a woman, and a part of Jorah shamefully thought that wouldn't be half bad.

He scanned what was left of the Lannister camp. Grey Worm's men were ushering prisoner rebels into a wagon. It didn't appear he'd lost any man, and very few rebels had fought until the end. That's one thing Jorah could appreciate about this new breed of man; they surrendered easily. He thought of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. Those men would never have surrendered. Jorah would never have surrendered. Thoros of Myr would never have surrendered. _We'd have all died a thousand times for honor,_ Jorah mused. _These boys know no honor._

Dirty, bloody faces look up at him as Jorah strode through the row of prisoners.

"Old man. An old man?" A blonde boy looked up at him in utter disappointment. "I got bested by an old man." His teeth were broken out from the hilt of Jorah's sword. His nose was still bleeding.

"You did," Jorah confirmed.

"Old man?" the prisoner next to him breathed in awe. "He's the one who flew in on a fucking dragon, you dolt." This soldier already had two black eyes. "We've heard of you," he said solemnly. "You're the queen's general."

The blonde blinked. "Him? He was the one on the dragon?" He squinted. "But he's old."

Proud of the frivolous nature his life had taken, Jorah nodded. "Aye. And that's only one of the queen's dragons. She has several more."

"And you have one, too," the second man breathed. "Navy and green, it is, with huge black teeth. The bride of the dragon the Targaryen girl rides. Now the queen has even more eggs and that means more of those beasts. We've heard, we have. Don't put us to the dragon fire, my lord. Please." He bowed his head. "I've thrown down my sword. I'll work in the kitchen. I'll rot in the dungeon. Please, just not the dragon fire, my lord, please."

Somewhere at camp Vedros would be terrorizing her sister, now both the size of ponies, but certainly not old enough to mate. Where the story had grown, Jorah didn't care. It was a perfect intimidation strategy.

"Aye," he nodded. "Perhaps you should have thought of this before deciding your Lannister would be a better ruler."

As the man softly began to sob, Jorah laughed. "Stop, fool. You'll receive mercy on the queen's orders."

Battle felt good. The power that came with the dragons felt good. Life, despite its many ups and downs, was good.


	24. Rivers and Kingroad

**Author's Note: Where Are You Now? - Mumford and Sons**  
 _Four Months Later_  
Though he'd expected a note of the sort, the twist in this one set a sorrow in his chest. Lord Commander Jorah Mormont sat by the window of his chambers and rested his head against the glass. Outside a sunny world awaited. With the rebellion _so close_ to being under control, the commoners were more at ease. Danger was again far-off. The people held street dancers and cheerily went about their business. The old knight wanted no part of it, at least not at the moment.

For four months he and the goldcloaks of the city watch acted on information the rebel Remy gave them. The details he'd given were all true. Jorah and his men were getting closer to bringing in the Lion himself, Tyrek Lannister. Battles and skirmishes were a weekly event. Grey Worm continually took the rebel camps by surprise and had captured and killed dozens. Jorah rode out here and there, but Daenerys mostly demanded he stay by her side; too valuable to lose. As much as he disliked the seemingly slow speed of the decimation of the rebellion, he took solace in the fact they were making undeniable progress.

For all the victory, Jorah's contentedness had been sustained. His wife stayed in Winterfell, but it only left him extra time to ponder the rebellion. They'd taken every avenue but one to smash it. And the one was a woman he didn't care to cross, not yet. Still, his thoughts occasionally wondered to Baylee. Now she was all he could think about. _Dark wings, dark words._ He expected a report from the field, not one from Winterfell.

Baylee wasn't returning to King's Landing. _Couldn't_ , the note said in Lady Stark's hand. Baylee was with child and couldn't make the trip south, not again. It wasn't safe.

Jorah tossed the note away. Whose child she carried didn't matter. He loved her, and she had loved him. Something had always felt fleeting, though. There was no denying it. Perhaps in another time, without the war, without his service, without her youth, their marriage would have worked.

Options all seemed to fail him. As he lord husband, Jorah could certainly summon her back and punish her for shaming him. He could leave the child to be fostered at Winterfell and bring Baylee back. More options fell before him, yet none of them felt right, save but for to quietly annul the marriage and allow his wife her freedom and go about his life alone. The thought of returning to bachelordom didn't sadden him, but realizing that Baylee hadn't been happy with him did.

At midnight he finally rose from the window, where he'd watched the sun set and stars rise, all the while pondering his third wife and her child. The news chewed at him and had finally become too much to keep in. He needed counsel. He needed comfort. He needed to yell or sob or hit something.

The royal wing was silent and dark. Starlight fell in through the long windows and he avoided it. Darkness suited his mood better. Jorah heard Vedros screech in his chambers behind him, likely angry to wake up and find he'd gone without bringing her. The beast was absolutely too large to dwell inside, now the size of a steer, yet he hesitated to let her roam free with her twin Idana.

A few steps later, he found himself at Daenerys' door, his hand on the knob. She never locked it, saying she trusted her small counsel with her life and more. Pushing it open, he poked his head in. A fire was still burning. "Khaleesi," he spoke softly. "Sorry to disturb you." He realized too late the fire was only burning out and no one was in front of it.

"What is it?" Daenerys mumbled from bed, sitting up with a start. "What's happened?"

Jorah hoisted his lantern to show his face. "It's only me. Dark wings, dark words. I'd hoped you were awake. This can wait until morning. Forgive me."

"No, no, come," she yawned. "What is it?" She stretched and cracked her neck to further prove her resolve to hear his concerns. Her long silver hair was undone and frizzy.

"Nothing concerning the realm," Jorah said, bowing. "Forgive me. Sleep."

"If it brought you to me in hopes I would be awake for counsel, then they must be dark words, indeed. Come, my bear." She propped herself up on the deep amethyst pillows and smoothed down her hair.

Jorah set the lantern down on her bedside table and retrieved the letter. "I received word from Winterfell. It's Baylee."

"What?" the queen blinked. "What's happened?"

"She won't be returning from Winterfell."

"What? Why?"

"She is unwilling to make the trip back in her condition. She's pregnant." Jorah sat on the bed and handed the scroll over. "Sansa's own hand. Perhaps Baylee intended to stay there and heal from the miscarriage, but-"

" _Whore!"_ Daenerys shrieked halfway through the letter, kicking back the covers. "I'll tell you whose child this is."

"The rebel Remy's, I expect," Jorah sighed. "He's thirty years younger than me and saved her-"

"Jon Snow." Her silver hair shone in the darkness as she moved across her chambers toward her desk. She rustled through papers before she pulled out her own letter. " _My Queen,"_ she read. _"I'm disappointed to hear you are not with child, but we can find solace in that Lylane will be a just ruler some day. Recent events have further secured my line of succession. Lend your worry to more important matters. The Stark-Targaryen line is strong."_ She threw the letter back onto the desk. "I didn't know what that meant- recent events. Of course it couldn't be another child, I convinced myself." Even through darkness, Jorah knew her cheeks burned a furious pink. "He humiliates me!"

"They humiliate us both," Jorah sighed. "I'm sorry to wake you with such news. I thought it was only me affected, but-"

"But we may as well go find something to drink now," Daenerys huffed, grabbing her dressing gown. "Is the pub near the kitchen open at this hour? I'll have a drink."


	25. Forked

Snowflakes swirled in and landed on the grey stone floor as the door swung open. Remy's teeth chattered involuntarily. After months of silence from the Starks as he served in the stables, the king had summoned him. Heavy footfalls passed him and Remy bowed lower to the ground. "Your Grace," he mumbled from his knees on the cold stone floor. "Please, I beg you to reconsider. My loyalties-"

"Are no longer with House Stark." Jon Snow strode past hastily and sat back in the large wooden throne. Winterfell was never elaborate or fancy for the sake of luxury. The basic throne suited the king. "Reconsider what, I wonder? You're free from your imprisonment here. You have served well. I have no reason to hold you here any longer. You saved a life. I'm giving yours back to you. Remy, go home. Go start a new life. Go from here."

Relief washed over him; the former rebel had half expected his time for execution had come. This sudden freedom was shocking. He stared at the king's face and found only a disinterested half-grin. "I have no home," Remy explained. "My wife is dead. That's why I joined up with the rebels in the first place, to be true. The memories are too much. I cannot go back to-"

"Then don't. You aren't a prisoner here anymore. Go somewhere else, then, if not your home. It's no concern of mine or my house's. Go." Jon shook hair back from his face. "You look glum for a man who's got possibilities in front of you."

Remy nodded, then stumbled to his feet. "I owe you my life, Your Grace. I shall never forget it." He knew better than to ask after Lady Mormont. Without a second glance, he strode to the stables, saddled his horse, and put Winterfell behind him forever.

* * *

"Stop scowling," Sansa sighed.

The youngest Stark woman sneered. "Why?"

"It's rude," Sansa snapped. She looked down at her dinner and sighed. Of course she vowed to never again resent her family after losing so many of them, but Arya tested her constantly.

Now the little sister ate ravenously, making a mess that made Sansa cringe. "Oh, it's just us. Stop. I'll scowl all I want." Arya tore a chunk of meat off the bone and chewed it noisily. "So Father was right about the Mormonts."

"What?"

Arya licked the grease from her lips and took another bite. "They've no honor, any of them." She swallowed, then frowned. "But I guess your Lady Baylee isn't really a Mormont after all, is she?"

"She's going to be Jon's wife, so you should watch your tongue." Sansa squirmed in her seat.

"Where's your stately poise?" Arya sang out. "You don't like it, either. What's Jon doing with her, anyway? Freya was his queen and she died with Lylane's birth so that should be the end of it. You think Father would have taken another wife if Mother died with one of us? Never. Besides, Jon never said he'd marry her. He just needs heirs and Danerys can't give them to him."

The food on Sansa's plate was suddenly not appetizing whatsoever. She poked at it, sighed, and set her fork down. "I don't like it either, you understand? I didn't know anything was happening until you pointed it out to me. It was probably right in front of my face. Baylee wouldn't stop and didn't care about Ser Jorah and the whole thing makes my stomach upset." Her eyes grew misty. Barely any of the marriages she'd seen or been in were true love.

"Oh, shut up and eat, you stupid. You didn't do anything wrong," Arya said. "But you have terrible taste in friends."

"Oh, because Gendry has never done anything wicked?"

"Oh, he's done plenty of wicked things," Arya grinned, waggling her eyebrows. "And you know he's not just my friend."

Begrudgingly, Sansa smiled. "Mother would be so disappointed that you won't just marry that man."

"Father wouldn't care. And he wouldn't care that Jon is securing the Stark line. You're not married. I'm too busy to make babies."

Sansa sighed. "I suppose you're right. He'd just want us all to be happy." What he'd say about her harboring Mormonts, though, was hard to say.

* * *

 _Jorah,  
_ _Ser Jorah,  
_ _Lord Husband,_

Baylee groaned and scratched out line after line. She had to write her husband. _Former husband_ , she reminded herself. Jon had annulled their marriage and sent word to Jorah. Baylee never asked for it. Never approved it. Yet Jon sent off a raven a few days ago and that was that. She was an unmarried woman. The whole situation still made her a bit lightheaded.

 _Jorah._ Her sweet lord husband. The way he tried not to smile when she jested with him. How noble he looked in his armor. Those stunning blue eyes. Baylee frowned. She did miss him. He was a good husband. Jorah Mormont never did wrong by her, not a single time. When she was wild, he let her out. If she was tame, he provided for her and took care of her. As for the times she was in between and wasn't sure what she was; he always seemed to know what she needed of him.

"And I left him," Baylee whispered to her empty room. _I never meant to._

At first, Jon's attention had been a welcome distraction from her sorrow. She wanted her baby back. Baylee wanted to feel home somewhere, anywhere. Had she ever felt at home? Highgarden, King's Landing, spying, as a wife? Nothing seemed to fit and truly, Baylee had never felt entirely at ease in any of her chambers or roles.

Jon's flirtation was fun and innocent enough at first. The desire in his eyes and butterflies in her stomach distracted her from the depression and anxiety that made her brain race and her stomach churn. That night, she drank too much. The loss of her baby at the hands of the rebels, _the murder,_ she thought bitterly, haunted her. She drank and so did Jon, then they fell in bed together and Baylee _knew_ it was wrong, _felt_ it was wrong. Jon did too, she figured. Yet the ale and the unrest of her soul allowed her to proceed.

Her swollen stomach felt foreign under her fingers. _A prince or princess_ , she scoffed to herself. Her child. Royalty. _Now_ her life would certainly never be the same. Court, royals, danger. And hanging over her for eternity would be her betrayal and foolishness. This child would of course be hers and she would love it, but he or she wouldn't replace _her_ child. Jorah's child. The first child she should have held in her arms.

This baby seemed like a stranger. _Jon_ was still a stranger. Winterfell was strange. The Starks and their fast were no more familiar to her than Daenerys at King's Landing or her ancestors at King's Landing.

Everything about her life was suddenly too much. There didn't seem to be a solution, resolution, or calm in sight. Sweat rolled down her temples. Her heart was pounding too hard, too fast. Gasping for breath, Baylee dashed to the window and threw it open. Brisk air hit her like a splash of cold water. Her stomach bumped against the wall as she leaned out the window.

For a moment she stood there, clutching the edge of the window desperately, wondering if she'd ever be able to calm down. Life was pointless. She was living hers wrong. Somewhere she had veered off her path and made a mess of everything. Snowflakes hit her face and melted there. Baylee stared down to the ground.

 _One leap and it'll be over. No more worries. No more houses. No more guilt. No more feeling like this._

She put one foot on the ledge and pulled herself up, holding fast to the wall.

 _Jon's baby. Sansa. Jorah. I can't keep disappointing them all. They'd understand._

She held a foot out in the air. Goosebumps rose along her legs as a breeze lifted her skirts.

 _Isn't this better?  
_

* * *

Daenerys cackled and toppled over. Her wine sloshed out of her glass and onto the braided rushes on the floor. "Oops," she giggled drunkenly.

Jorah waved his hand. "They'll dry."

He'd rebuilt the fire as they drank on the floor in the queen's chambers, discussing their lives, Daenerys's reign, the lot of all of their friends. The queen's rage subsided into drunken tales of the comedic elements of court, and Jorah's sorrow perked into humor at his life. Lesser men would kill to live through what he'd lived through, but he couldn't help how he felt at this latest betrayal.

As the first rays of sun spilled in through the huge balcony doors, Daenerys blinked in amazement. "It cannot be morning."

Jorah finished his wine. "It apparently can." He collected the empty wine bottles and glasses from the floor and returned them to their table. "I must admit: I'm drunk. This will be an interesting small counsel meeting."

"Tyrion is drunk at half of them," the queen giggled. "I am, too. Should we cancel it?"

"No, I'd much rather have something to think of than sit around with free time. Sleep if you wish. I'll see to business." He bowed, stumbled, then grinned. "Your Grace. Vedros will be quite unhappy at being cooped up alone all evening. I should let her out. Feed her. Beg her forgiveness."

"That dragon can take care of itself," the queen called after him. "And so can I! I'll be at the meeting!"

Jorah stumbled out of the queen's chambers and immediately regretted doing so.

"Mormont?" Tyrion scoffed as the larger man nearly ran him over. "What are you-?" He looked back at the queen's doors. "Truly, then?"

Blinking, Jorah shook his head. "No, no."

"You reek of Dornish red."

"Yes," he admitted.

"It's morning."

"Yes," Jorah agreed again.

The dwarf shook his head. "This love triangle, hexagon, whatever it is at this point – is utterly out of control."

"It's about to get worse," Jorah laughed darkly. "Just wait until you hear what I've got to do next.


	26. Cold Nights

A muddy, travel-worn man knelt at Jorah's feet. His dark curls were fuzzy and windblown, and his cheeks were red from sunburn. He'd obviously ridden south in haste. When he looked up, Jorah was puzzled at the man's calm expression.

"Lord Commander Mormont, allow me to enter your service."

Jorah scratched his chin. "Remy Lorch. Are you spying for my wife?" He paused, then chuckled. "For Baylee _Redwyne_ , I guess it is once more." He'd returned to his chamber to change into finery for a feast and now felt humorously lordly before the young soldier. His long white cloak was clasped with silver dragon pins with rubies inlaid. They glinted like fire when he moved.

"No, my lord," Remy answered quickly. "She sent me from her service, and that meant the King's, too. I owe my life to you in part, too. You could have had me executed as a traitor." He bowed. "I'll serve you until my dying day."

Jorah sighed tiredly. He didn't need to ask why the man came seeking to serve him. The old knight understood that better than any. Being on the receiving end of the devotion was sure different, he mused. A small smile came to his lips. "Get up. So it's true. My wife and the king."

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Remy glanced at his boots, then out the window. "I never- we never-"

Jorah took pity on the young man. "You never fucked my wife?" He chuckled. "I never suspected Jon Snow to take her from me. I thought it would be you. I think I prefer it be you."

Remy looked relieved. "No, Lord Commander. Never. I may have had thoughts, but never a _plan,_ if you know what I mean."

"Aye," Jorah agreed, feeling a strange kinship with the man. "I know exactly what you mean. Thank you for serving her. For saving her. I suppose I do owe you a debt for that." He considered the ramifications of taking a rebel into his service, but found the pros outweighed the cons. Everything he'd told them at Winterfell was true. The rebellion fell quickly with his aid. "I trust you understand you'll be under suspicion and under watch. You'll be guarded if you're not with me."

"Absolutely," Remy nodded. "I would expect as much."

"I heard your father served the Lannisters well," Jorah posed, recalling a tale of Lord Lorch cutting down one of his father's men recruiting for the Wall. He cast a sidelong glance at the boy.

"I grew up in a palace with my mother and sisters," Remy answered, his head hanging. "I know of my father's acts, pillaging and killing innocents. I pray you don't judge me by them or hold me accountable. I'm trying to right the wrongs of House Lorch."

"Right them you will, then," Jorah nodded. "Welcome to my service. Have you anything finer to wear? We're off to a feast."

* * *

She'd ridden for days, barely stopping to sleep and rest her horse. Her cheeks burned and eyes watered, but Baylee didn't care. Mere centimeters separated her from stepped out of her window and falling to her death back at Winterfell. She'd truly considered it; hadn't she climbed onto the window sill and kicked one leg out into the cold air? Tutting in disgust at herself, Baylee dug her heels into her mare, who whinnied in protest and trotted only a little faster. Winterfell obviously wasn't where she'd heal and figure out her place in the world. The only thing she took from there was her horse and Jon Snow's unborn child.

The hunger gnawing at Baylee's gut made her feel ill. The baby would be fine for a few more days, had to. In her haste she'd packed no food. The way the northerners spoke of the Wall, she thought it was closer. When she came across a small holdfast, she cried out in relief and rode for it.

"Hello?" Baylee called. "Can you give bread and bed to a weary traveler?" She dismounted and made sure the sword Jorah gave her was at her side.

"Who's there? A woman this far North, alone?" a gruff voice answered. Soon the door swung open. Light spilled onto the snow on the ground. "Who are you?" The man was taller than many she'd seen, with a wild red beard and matching hair.

"Baylee Morm- Baylee Snow," she quickly answered, suddenly wondering if stopping had been wise at all.

"Baylee, eh? My love," the man called back into the house. "A southern woman saying she's a Snow asks for shelter. You better talk to her."

A woman as tall as the man stepped outside. Her yellow hair was cut short and she was broad as a soldier. "Come, what are you doing? You look chilled to the bone. Come in, my lady."

The small house was warm and cozy. A fire burned bright, hearty food was on the table, and wine was ready to be poured. Baylee immediately knelt by the fire and rubbed her hands together furiously.

"What're you running from?" the woman asked. "Who are you, truly, now?"

"I'm not running," Baylee answered. The sheer size of the couple intimidated her into telling the truth. They weren't dumb and they weren't weak. Baylee would have to play by their rules. "I'm Baylee Redwyne. Truly."

"I'm Brienne of Tarth," the woman replied, "and my husband is Tormund Giantsbane." She sat back at the table. "He caught and cooked a deer for dinner. There's plenty and more to eat. Help yourself as soon as you're warm."

Baylee tried not to show that she recognized their names. Anxious energy caused her hands to tremble even more. "Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much."

"You talk like a lady," Tormund nodded toward her. "Who are you _really_?" He looked to his wife and narrowed his eyes. "We harboring a traitor, a rebel? Jon won't like that. And why are you so far north?"

"My lady, let me take your cloak," Brienne said suddenly.

Unthinking, Baylee unhooked the black velvet and handed it over to Tormund. "Of course."

"You're pregnant," Brienne said suspiciously.

Baylee tried to cover her belly, but knew it was too late.

Brienne stood and strode over to the fire. "You wouldn't happen to be Baylee _Mormont?"_

Tormund growled. "Jorah Mormont's wife?" His brow furrowed and he spat. "You're the woman Jon's got a child on," he continued. "How did your husband feel about that? Mormont's a good man. Served beside me beyond the Wall." His lip twitched underneath his bushy red beard. "I'd be heartbroken if my wife fucked another man."

As if a waterfall had sprouted in her eyes, tears clung to Baylee's eyelashes and she desperately willed them to stop. A weight settled in her gut. Having her situation explained so cruelly by an outsider cut her deep. Knowing that people even this far north knew of her treachery felt worse. "We-"

"Leave her be, she can have her reasons," Brienne cut in. "Ser Jorah's not here, but a cold, pregnant woman is. We'll take care of her just the same."

"It's her own fault she's pregnant and cold. My Freya's only been dead a few years! Jon shouldn't have fucked this one!" Tormund slammed his hand down on the table. "Jon shouldn't be fucking these fancy ladies. Freya would have cut his dick off for thinking of it."

Her heart pounding, Baylee stood, already missing the fire's warmth. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I'll be on my way." She reached for her cloak, but Brienne snatched it away.

"Nonsense. You'll eat hot food and you'll sleep in a warm bed. You can't be out riding in this cold in your state. We'll talk tomorrow. For now you're just a weary traveler." She shot a look at her husband. "Right?"

From deeper inside the small house, a baby cried out. Tormund jumped to his feet. "I'll get her," he announced cheerily. "I'm glad for an excuse to be out of this company, anyway."

* * *

"Lord Commander," Remy breathed some days later. "There's been an attack in the city. A father, he brought-"

That's when Jorah noticed the bundle in the soldier's arms. "Fuck," he muttered. " _Fuck!"_

Nodding, Remy lowered the bundle. "The father asked that I bring his daughter to the queen to show her what's been done by these rebels. As he left, he said to give her to the Silent Sisters when we're through. He's going to kill himself. This girl was the last of his family." His lip quivered. "Tyrion and Grey Worm said to let him go, to let him do it? Is – is that right? Shouldn't we help him?"

Jorah ran his hands over his whiskers and sighed. "What could change his mind? What could make life worth living?" He nodded to the bundle. "The queen won't see this child, but I will." He steeled himself and knew it'd do no good.

One look at the young girl's body revealed the worst. Not only was she slashed and gutted, but she seemed to have been violently violated as well. Despite the numerous atrocities of war he'd seen and even committed, Jorah turned away as his stomach lurched. He drove his fist down onto the table and then violently slashed his arm across the surface. Goblets and papers flew everywhere. "I'm ending this. I'm ending it _today!"_

"Lord Commander," Remy said.

"See that poor babe to the Silent Sisters. I'm calling the small counsel and the queen. Return to her meeting room in an hour."

The small counsel sat in silent shock at Jorah's proposal. At the head of the table, Daenerys looked the most surprised.

"Perhaps we can find a less _personal_ route," Missandei suggested. "Your new squire, perhaps, Remy could go? There's no need for _you_ to have to stoop to such disgrace."

Remy bowed and quickly replied, "Anything to serve Lord Commander Mormont."

"If it will end the rebellion, I'd do any number of dishonorable things," Jorah snarled. "Lynesse Hightower is Tyrek Lannister's partner in this. She has tried to bed me for information, so I shall give in to her advances this evening. I'm a man who has just lost his child, wife, everything, _again._ " He raised an eyebrow. "Lynesse will understand how devastating that would be for me. _Again."_

Bronn chuckled. "A good old-fashioned hate-fuck. I thought you were a stick in the mud, but you're all right, Mormont."

"Mormont," Tyrion warned. "She's much better to us alive than dead. I don't quite trust that you won't find her and snap her in two." He chuckled nervously, then took a drink of wine.

Daenerys cleared her throat. "Such matters shouldn't be affairs of the crown. I have no knowledge of this."

"Of course, Khaleesi," Grey Worm nodded. "Our queen would never condone such tactics of war."

"But," she added, "if it will end the slaughter and the rape of children, I'd see you spend a thousand nights with her."

The energy in the room plummeted and instead, a cold unease settled over the officials. Trying his best to ignore it, Jorah turned his attention to Tyrion and Bronn. "Have you seen her in the pubs or brothels lately?"

Bronn nodded. "I'll put out word this afternoon and find out where she'll be this evening. Don't you worry, old man. I'll get you some." His laughter wasn't as bright as usual, and the man couldn't even bring himself to wink.


	27. Warm Beds

Remy fidgeted with his tunic laces and looked around as if he'd never been in a brothel before. The rowdy pub attached to the whorehouse was loud and dark as usual. Girls milled past the tables, their breasts on full display. Whenever a prostitute passed by or wiggled her fingers at him, Remy blushed and stared at his beer. "What if one of them comes over here?" he hissed to Jorah.

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "They will. You've never been in a house like this before?" he asked. "There's no need to play naive, boy. There are no queens or ladies here. You're unmarried and none of us are doing anything wrong. Relax. Enjoy yourself." He allowed his eyes to wander this time. Though Jorah had no particular love for prostitutes, he felt much more at ease around them without a wife at home.

Bronn and Tyrion sat at the table with them. They chuckled and rolled their eyes as Remy avoided eye contact with another girl.

"No, truly," Remy replied. "I've never been. I was married fairly young and she was more than enough for me. My wife was beautiful and spry and, well, left me with little energy for such pleasures elsewhere." He blushed again. "It feels wrong to be here."

"Consider yourself lucky. You've known love and now you'll know any woman here you'd like. You'll be quite popular, I expect, Remy," Tyrion added sullenly. "You're young and handsome and are going to take all of the best girls from the rest of us."

Remy scowled and sunk lower into his seat. "You can have them!"

" _There!"_ Bronn kicked Jorah under the table. "There she is."

Lynesse Hightower, dressed as a whore, moved among the tables, flashing a smile and winking here and there, yet keeping far enough away that none could touch her. She seemed to be looking for someone. Jorah wondered if it was him.

Bronn shot a look at Remy. "You're _sure_ she won't recognize you? Absolutely positive? Because if you're wrong, you'll fuck everything up." The usual humor in his voice was absent.

"Why would she?" Remy replied. "I only ever saw her in camp from twenty feet or more away. I'm certain it's her, but she'll never know me." He nodded. "I'm positive."

"Just in case," Bronn drawled. He snatched a server by the waist. "It's my son's big night, here! First time at a brothel. You look like his type. Show him a nice night, eh?"

The girl grinned at Remy. "This one? Oh, I'd be _happy_ to." The man looked horrified as the girl sat on his lap and began fussing with his curly hair.

"There. Now you're no one worth lookin' at," Bronn chuckled.

Jorah made to motion to Lynesse, but instead, a younger girl swooped in. "You look nice," she cooed. "What are you doin' with this bunch?" She nodded toward Bronn and Tyrion. "They're a filthy lot, both of 'em." She giggled and swatted Bronn's hand away and returned her attention to Jorah, who was looking past her for Lynesse again. The younger woman cleared her throat. "Am I to your liking, m'lord? I promise I will be. No need to hunt after the rest of them. They've been here all day. I've only just arrived and I'm looking to spend the night with one man. All night."

"Yes, I'm quite kind," Jorah agreed, realizing he could use her to his advantage. He grinned and sat back in his chair. "Convince me you should earn my coin and my time."

She all but catapulted herself into his lap. The girl, strawberry blonde and freckled head to toe, giggled, kissed his ear, and tugged at his earlobe. Jorah enjoyed the attention, but kept glancing past the whore for Lynesse. Finally, she was there striding toward him, her long blonde hair pulled into an updo, her eyes rubbed with kohl, and looking somewhat uncomfortable. "You?" she asked in surprise. "Here? With her, of all the girls?"

The girl on Jorah's lap snorted and rolled her eyes. "Don't pay mind to her. She's _old_ and only likes certain kinds of men." She leaned back and looked down his torso. A wicked smile came to her lips. "I don't think she'd be interested. She likes the pudgy ones, the _stupid_ ones. I can tell you's a proper lord, ain't you? And so _handsome._ " She wriggled and her dress slipped down her shoulders. "You look like you know how to treat a girl. You won't want to see _her._ I'm all you'll need, m'lord."

"Quiet, wench," Lynesse snapped. "I know this lord well enough to know he's not interested in someone so inexperienced."

"Inexperienced?" the redhead gasped. "Please."

Across the table, Bronn and Tyrion only half-pretended to be interested in their ale and listened intently. Remy was half-heartedly kissing his whore, one eye half open to watch Lynesse.

"Be gone, child," Lynesse snapped, pulling the girl away.

"He's mine!" the girl whined. "He's a lord! He's _mine!_ I'm tired of takin' the street rats and the smelly ones." She ran her hands through Jorah's hair. "Please, m'lord. I'll show you a good night. Let me prove it."

"Come here, sweetling," Tyrion said, extending a hand and nodding toward Remy, who was still struggling to keep the serving girl at bay. "This is Ser Bronn's son. It's his first time here. Why don't you show him a good night, instead? We're _all_ lords. I'll pay you double what you'd have gotten from him."

She grinned, Jorah forgotten even as she straddled his lap. "Truly? I'm afraid I don't like to share. Tilly, get off him. You're supposed to be serving tonight, anyway!" She dismounted Jorah and strutted toward Remy as Tilly hastily grabbed her tray and scurried back to the bar. "What's your name? I didn't know this old cad had a son."

"You're here looking for girls?" Lynesse frowned and sat next to Jorah as Remy sheepishly gave in to the whore's advances. "Something must have changed drastically in your life since the last I saw you." She took a drink from his tankard and licked her lips. "Do tell, my old Bear."

Jorah scowled, wondering why she hadn't taken his lap like the last time. "My wife left me for a younger man," he lamented. "I see now that beautiful, smart women are my downfall. I love them, and they only love my gold and my station." He took a drink, already feeling somewhat guilty. Jorah's heart was pounding. Informing on Daenerys Targaryen, some princess he never knew, was easy; easy until he got to know her. Lynesse would be different. She knew him, or _had_ known him. Suddenly the pressure of putting on a convincing act was enough to make him feel ill. _You loved her once. A true knight wouldn't trick a woman he loved once, would he?_

She leaned on her hand. "It's not you. You're a fine man. Besides, your first wife only died, not left you."

"How reassuring." A young dark-haired girl wandered by and he thought of Baylee with someone else's child growing in her belly. _Lynesse fed the rebels information, indirectly caused attacks, got my unborn child killed, drove my wife away._ Then the memory of the murdered and raped child flickered in his mind. Suddenly it was much easier to carry on. _Anything to end this rebellion._

"My poor bear," Lynesse sighed. "Look at us, two disgraced highborns sitting here in a brothel, sulking over our lot."

"And now that boy takes my girl," he nodded at Remy, now running his hands over the freckled girl. "A sorry lot indeed."

Lynesse tutted and reached out to stroke his cheek. "My Jorah. Didn't I tell you my offer still stands? I'll take you for a night, free of charge."

"I'm glad to hear it. You took enough of my coin already," Jorah chuckled. "I say I've already paid for you for tonight and a hundred more."

* * *

Baylee was exhausted, the guest room was warm and more plush than it deserved to be, and she'd eaten her fill of fresh deer meat, but she couldn't bring herself to sleep.

Brienne and Tormund were having an argument in the adjoining room. At first they kept their voices low, but as their anger escalated, so did the volume.

"She's been here for days," Tormund growled. "I know you've liked having someone else around, but I'm not hiding her from Jon Snow and Mormont another night. Already I've betrayed them!"

"She is a woman, not property belonging to either of them!" Brienne spat back. "It doesn't matter who she's married to or what she's done. She left for a reason. Left _both_ of them for a reason. I won't send her back just because you fought with King Jon and Ser Jorah."

Baylee squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the blanket up to her nose. She wished she didn't have to listen to this, but the house was small. No where would offer refuge from their voices. For the past few days Tormund had done his best to ignore her; taking long hunting trips and occupying himself with the baby. Baylee had chatted with Brienne about her service during the wars, Baylee's spying, and the dragons. It was no use hiding her identity; they all knew who she was. She'd meant to make for the wall, but Baylee figured a friendly cottage of friends of friends was as safe as anywhere until she thought of her next move. The feelings were starting to fall, but hadn't shown any particular rhyme or reason yet. Soon enough Baylee would be able to think clearly.

The argument still raged through the wall. Tormund spat a bark of laughter. "You never served with Jon Snow. He takes his honor seriously. He's not going to take kindly to someone hiding his woman, especially a pregnant one. You know how he is about havin' heirs. Freya knew it was her job to make babies for him. He told her all the time. And it got her killed. He's not going to think twice about cutting my balls off."

Brienne scoffed incredulously. "This has nothing to do with your sister!"

"I know how Jon Snow thinks because of my sister."

"But it's not right! Even if he is a king! She is her own human, not a brood mare or a _thing_ that he can command to stay."

"It isn't right!" Tormund agreed. "But he's king and the power's gone to his head."

"So let's not send this poor woman back to him!"

Baylee sighed. Whether she was ready or not, she had to leave tomorrow; whether it was for the Wall, Winterfell, or King's Landing.

* * *

Lynesse cried out in genuine pleasure and it made Jorah chuckle. They'd retired to a private room in the brothel and his ex wife was more than willing to demonstrate the things she'd learned since she'd last taken him to bed. They'd collapsed back onto the bed once, but she was eager to spend their night together well.

"Your merchant was a fool for leaving you behind," Jorah murmured against her breast. He took her nipple in his mouth and she giggled in a way that was almost girlish. "I was a fool for letting you leave me. I should have chased you to his palace and burnt it to the ground."

She looked down at him, blue eyes so bright they reminded him of the sky. "Really? You wanted to do that? You never came after me. I thought you didn't care." Her fingers twisted through his hair. "And I know you'd _never_ leave me to fend for myself like Tregar did."

"Don't say his name," Jorah growled, wrapping a hand into her hair and giving it a tug. "I never want to hear it again." Goosebumps trickled down her body and the sight aroused Jorah somewhat. He gazed lustily over her body, appreciating how time and childlessness kept her nearly as pristine as when he'd last had her in his bed, twenty years past. The only mar was a black tattoo on her side that stood in stark contrast to her milky skin. Jorah immediately recognized it as a slave's brand. He had one, himself. For yet another moment he considered the trap he had set for her, but thought better of falling for her charm and sad story. Everything in her life had been her doing and her choice alone. Had she stayed with him on Bear Island, none of this would have befallen her.

"I called him by your name more than once," Lynesse said breathily. "All he has was gold."

Jorah pulled back. "I said I don't want to hear about him."

Lynesse nodded. "Stay with me. We never have to leave this bed."

He kissed her lustily on the throat. "Here? No. I have the castle. A royal suite. You'll live like a queen." He blinked hopefully. "That was our only problem the first time. Money. Now it's no matter."

She pulled away from him and sat up. Something old and familiar glimmered in her eyes.

 _It's working,_ Jorah thought in amazement. _She thinks she's playing me._

"Really? You'd take me there?" Her mouth hung open, then snapped shut as she frowned. "I don't think the Targaryen girl likes me very much."

"She queen?" he corrected her. "I'm her right hand man. She'll respect my choice. If I bring my wife home, Daenerys will welcome you."

"That sounds," the blonde hesitated, "too good to be true."

"Perhaps it is. I need to know your lover. Who is he? Who's he with?" Jorah stroked her jaw. "Don't look so surprised. The girls here talk. I hear he's a tall blonde man, a soldier, but not much more. Who is he? One of the city watch?"

Lynesse rolled back, forgetting to hide the fleeting panic on her face. "What?"

"You know how girls talk," Jorah murmured, kissing her shoulder. "Who is this man? Leave him. You're mine, you've always been mine. Can he offer you all that I can offer you?"

"He's no one," she breathed. "Take me to your palace. Take me now." She sat up and reached for her gown, but he pulled her back.

"I'll know about him first," Jorah said. "I want to know who's going to wage a war against me for taking you from him. If not Tregar, who?"

"He's no one," Lynesse said, shrugging. "An old soldier. He seemed exciting."

Jorah wrinkled his nose. "You sell him short. You aren't here every night. You're staying with him. He'll surely miss you if you just stop coming to his bed at night."

"Maybe. He doesn't have anywhere. It's worse than Bear Island," she smirked. "Tents, staying on the road. I hate it. And the men are worse." She pursed her lips for a moment before continuing. "But I'll come with you. He's no threat. He won't miss me. He's too busy to miss me."

"His men?" Jorah asked. _No stronghold. Tyrek Lannister and his men are in camps. Busy with strategy and preparing one last attack, perhaps._

"He- he travels with them. Sellsword type of thing," she muttered. Clearing her throat, she smiled and stroked his bicep. "You mentioned you'd be bringing your _wife_ back. Will you see us married?"

Something in her was changing, Jorah noticed. _It's working._ "We can go get your things in the morning. Where do you keep them?"

Anger lowered her eyebrows but she quickly recovered. "I-I don't have much anymore. I told you Tregar took everything. Perhaps we can get new?" She smiled sheepishly. "Though I don't dare ask you for anything after what I did."

Jorah pulled her into his chest. _She'll sing for me yet._ "Absolutely. You'll have everything I couldn't afford for you all those years ago. But first, I'll have the rest of my night."


	28. Morning Light

Guards bowed as usual when Jorah passed by them in the midmorning light, but this time, their gazes lingered on his companion.

Lynesse Hightower clung to Jorah's arm and looked about the palace eagerly as he led her to their destination. "This is so much more than Oldtown," she breathed, touching a dragon tapestry on the wall. "This is magnificent. You _live_ here? Truly?"

"Mmm," Jorah hummed.

"And you _like_ it? You used to go on and on about how everything you needed was on Bear Island." She glanced up toward a stained glass skylight and _oohed_ in disbelief.

"I was a young man. Everything I needed _was_ all on Bear Island," Jorah replied. "My tastes have grown more rich since then." He smiled at her. "Worry not. You'll want for nothing here. There's no place more grand in the world, not Oldtown, not anywhere across the Narrow Sea."

"I think I'll like it here," she smiled. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's fitting for us to reunite, I think. We've lived and loved and gone through all sorts of shit, haven't we?" She laughed. "And now we're right back where we started."

"Several days' ride south, but yes, it's fitting," Jorah nodded. _Almost there. Almost, almost. His heart pounded. If this is the right thing to do, why does it feel like betrayal?_

Lynesse's next question didn't put his soul at ease. "I'll really be safe? What if someone knows what I've done and they want to come after me?"

"What you've done?" Jorah stopped and touched her shoulder. "What have you done, Lynesse?"

The woman shrugged. "Made bad choices, turned up on the wrong side of things far more than once." She smiled weakly. "Left the queen's general when he was a young man. I'm certain the lords and ladies still alive after the war will remember that treachery. I ran away from a knight to become a concubine in Essos. They'll hate me."

 _Sounds like a confession to me._ "You'll be plenty safe," Jorah replied, his stomach twisting somewhat. "As a matter of fact, guards!" he called to a trio of white cloaks. "Here she is."

"Wha-?" Lynesse breathed. She turned toward him. "Jorah? They knew I was coming? How?" The innocent surprise on her face gave way to a smile. "You meant to come out and bring me back here to live?"

Jorah stepped away from her as Javo grabbed her firmly under the arm.

She gasped and tried to wretch her arm away, but the Queensguard tightened his grip and snarled.

"Jorah?" Lynesse squeaked. "What are they doing?" Surprise gave way to disappointment. "No, no," she whispered in disbelief. "Jorah, please. Please. Whatever you want, anything, _anything!"_

The knight stepped back once more. "Take her to a cell in the Hand's tower. Guard her day and night. No one is to know who she is. Just know that she's valuable to the queen and that under my orders, none should be permitted to speak with her."

Lynesse shrieked and struggled against the Dothraki guard. "No! I'll tell you everything! Jorah, please! I cannot be a prisoner!" Tears streamed down her face and real panic made her thrash in her captor's arms.

"Come, lady," Javo snarled. "I do not want hurt you. You must come, quiet."

Jorah stood and watched as the guards dragged her back down the hallway. Her eyes were full of so many things he recalled from their marriage; hatred, loathing, hopelessness, sorrow. The horribly desperate begging resonated through the stone halls and Jorah knew it was a sound he'd never forget.

"Jorah! _Jorah!"  
_

* * *

Baylee saddled her horse and strapped her pack on tight. The sun was almost rising and she wanted to be gone before it did. Snowflakes flurried through the air and though it was freezing, the beauty wasn't lost on her. The North was a breathtakingly gorgeous land and she knew why all of her Northerners - Jon, Sansa, Jorah - liked it so.

With a soft grunt, Baylee swung into the saddle and looked back at the small home that had kept her safe, warm, and fed for the better part of the past week. She gasped when she saw its inhabitants standing at the front door. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You don't need to tell us where you're going," Brienne said kindly. "But please be safe. And here. Food. You'll need it, wherever you're going." She strode forward to tuck the pack into a saddlebag. "I hope you know what direction you're going."

Baylee grinned in spite of herself. "Yes, I know the way. I may be from Oldtown, but I can read a map and track the sun and stars well enough." She sat up straighter in the saddle.

"She means your life," Tormund called, his baby girl cooing in his arms. He hadn't warmed toward Baylee, but moved toward her horse anyway. "It's never too late to go back."

"Back where?" Baylee asked. She tilted her head, curious as to where the wildling thought she should go.

"Back to somewhere you've been before. Back to the beginning before you had all these other people to think about. Back before the war." He shrugged. "You can go anywhere."

Brienne smiled fondly. "You've had a change of heart."

Smiling, Baylee simply nodded. "Thank you. Thank you for _everything._ If there's a way I can repay your kindness, I'll find a way to do so."

"Just go live your life how you want to live it, eh?" Tormund bounced the baby up higher. "It's what I'd want for my wife, my girl." He nodded. "Baylee Snow, Mormont, Redwyne, whoever you are."

* * *

Vedros hissed at him before curling back up and glaring at him from her cushion. Daenerys was right, Jorah realized. The dragon the size of a cow had no place in a castle. "My girl, I had to work," he reasoned with her. He'd snatched a leg of lamb from the kitchen and offered it to her. "You can't stay mad at me forever. We both know you aren't going to spend your days with Idana and Khaleesi."

As if she understood, Vedros reached out and snapped a bite of meat from the leg and gulped it down. She cocked her head and blinked at him for a moment before tugging the entire leg from his grasp, nearly toppling him.

"She'll have to get used to me at some point."

"Khaleesi," Jorah exclaimed. "Good morning." He turned and watched her stroll into his chambers, sit on the foot of his bed, and watch his dragon. At some point she had stopped knocking, stopped summoning for him, stopped any formality. She was eating an apple, nonchalantly crunching without a care. Few people knew that the queen hated eating in front of people, but it seemed to Jorah the tiny woman never stopped eating.

On the floor a few feet away, Vedros finished her lamb and tossed the bone about for a few seconds before coming bored with it and crawling back onto her cushion to nap. Before she closed her eyes, she made sure to hiss softly at Daenerys.

"Oh, you sweet girl, I shall love to see you when you're out of your moody years," she laughed. "Here." She tossed the apple core toward her. Vedros sniffed at it and acted disinterested. Daenerys turned back to Jorah briefly, then smiled when she heard crunching. "You look like you haven't slept at all, my lord. Your night with the traitor woman was a success, then?" Her eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"Yes." He sat next to her on the bed and fell backward. His greyscale skin ached and sleepiness tugged at his eyelids. Plus, he felt in need of a deep stretch or a hot bath to soothe his spasming muscles. Sex with Lynesse had worked muscles he apparently hadn't used in some time. The flicker of memory sent a brief surge through his body.

"'Yes?' That's all?" Daenerys pressed. "You must tell me." She flopped down onto the bed next to him. "What happened? Did you seduce her?"

Jorah gave her a look. "Lynesse is being held in the tower of the Hand."

Daenerys's eyebrows shot upward. "No! Truly? You took her as a prisoner?"

"Truly. Was that not the plan?" Jorah hesitated. "I got precious little out of her, but it was enough. I intend to meet with Grey Worm and Tyrion this afternoon to discuss our strategy. Tyrek Lannister's men are encamped somewhere nearby and they're planning to act soon."

"My sweet, gentle bear. The blood of the dragon is becoming stronger in you." The queen smiled wickedly. "Does it feel good knowing you bested her? You've waited a long time for that revenge."

"Your Grace," he scolded.

"Come, she deserves to be mocked. She spent your coin and left you! I heard her at the festival. She's a wretched woman." She nudged Jorah when he didn't say anything. "You're too good of a man, Jorah."

"Is that why two of my wives left me?" he grumbled.

"Stop it," Daenerys snapped. "You just need a nap and you'll feel better."

"Mmm," he agreed.

After a moment, the queen pressed him again. "But you fucked her?"

" _Khaleesi._ " Vedros snarled and flapped her wings, sensing Jorah's anger.

"You did!" she giggled. She bounced onto her knees in the bed. "Did she like it? When did you tell her she was your prisoner? I must know. _I must!"_ She threw herself across his chest. "Tell me! Tell me!"

Without thinking, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her down. His nose brushed the tip of hers. "No," he said sternly. "Go away."

"Is _this_ what you did to her?" Daenerys whispered seductively before laughing. "Thrilling."

Jorah rolled onto his side. "Good night, Khaleesi."


	29. Penultimate

The wind whipped through Baylee's hair as she rode. She laughed aloud, overjoyed at knowing where she was supposed to be at last. She held the reins with one hand and placed the other on her swollen stomach. "We're going home," she grinned.

* * *

The woman looked distraught. Her porcelain skin had lost its flush of life and her usually calm, seductive eyes were wide and wild. She'd been writing at the desk. An untouched plate of dinner sat opposite her.

"You look unwell," Tyrion announced as he strode into the chambers housing Lynesse Hightower. He glanced back to Jorah and Grey Worm. "I thought you said the rebels called her the Maiden Fair?"

Grey Worm studied Lynesse, then nodded. "A joke. I understand."

Lynesse sat up and straightened her hair, clearly offended. "Jorah, please listen. I truly meant that I'd put aside everyone and come back to you. Please." She offered a smile. "Whatever sins I've committed, I'm sure they can be erased by someone with your station. This is all I've ever wanted. You said it yourself. We can be happy this way."

Before Jorah could reply, Tyrion pulled out a chair beside the woman and sat down. "How much information did you gather in the brothel and report back to my dear cousin? And what are you doing?" He leaned to read her note but Lynesse snatched her paper away and tucked it into her cleavage.

" _Nothing_ ," she snapped.

"Ah. Trying to send word to Tyrek, I imagine." Tyrion sighed. "And here I thought you and I had proved that people can change, Mormont. I guess we were wrong." He paused, then shook his head and grinned. "Him Mormont, not you."

Lynesse sneered, then sat back and swallowed hard. "I see this isn't going to go my way no matter how I play it, eh?" Her hands began to tremble.

Grey Worm smirked. "Correct."

"Fine," Lynesse sighed. "I'll tell you what you want, but I want your word that there will be a ship and gold waiting for me. I'm going back to Essos." Her eyes begged Jorah. "You'll never hear or see me again, I promise. I'll go and be no trouble to anyone."

"Whatever," Tyrion nodded. "Whatever you ask." He glanced at Jorah as if to say _whatever you ask will be ignored._

Lynesse nodded. "I gathered information in the brothel and around town and fed it to Tyrek."

"Why?" Jorah rasped. " _Why?_ "

Lynesse refused to look at Jorah. "I-" she trailed off. Her lip trembled for a moment. "I had to," she whispered. Sobs strangled in her throat for a moment before she let them burst free. "He _left me!_ Tregar loved me, he _loved me_ , but then he was gone. Tyrek took me in. He offered me somewhere to stay in exchange for information. It didn't even have to be a lot. Anything, anything at all and they gave me food and protection." Tears clung to her eyelashes and she finally looked to the knight. "Please, Jorah, you know me."

"I don't," he growled, unimpressed by her pitiful act. "You hated me every day of our marriage. Save your tears. You do realize that your information led to the slaughter of innocents. Children raped by your rebels. Was it worth it for the power you felt?" Jorah said coldly. "My unborn child was murdered that night by your rebels."

Lynesse swiped a tear away. "Please, I didn't meant for any of this. I was only protecting myself. You know a lady cannot-"

"Enough." Jorah marched away. He flexed and unfurled his fists, fighting the urge to hit someone, break something, throw something. Perhaps he'd seen a spark of the girl he fell in love with at Lannisport during their evening together, but never expected to feel such hurt during the interrogation. The Lynesse who left him wasn't an evil woman; just young and naive. This woman was selfish as before, but now mercilessly uncaring, too.

Grey Worm grew tired of the back-and-forth. "You be executed tomorrow unless you help us end rebellion." He nodded toward her. "You can save yourself."

" _Executed?_ " Lynesse barked in amused disbelief. "Please. For surviving? I'm only a woman on her own. No husband, no-"

"I'm certain the jury will believe that," Tyrion nodded. "That is, unless their families were slaughtered by the rebels you assisted."

Lynesse stood and reached toward Jorah. "Please, you wouldn't let them kill me?" She fell to her knees. "You won't let this mercenary kill _me_." She glared up at Grey Worm and scowled for a moment before snapping her attention back to the old knight. "Jorah, please, this is no game."

He turned and glanced down at her. "It isn't. You'd better start talking."

* * *

The tall blonde man strode through his ragtag soldiers, silently cursing to himself that the valiant and skilled had somehow died and all that was left were the dumb and slow. Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

The crown was never _supposed_ to be his, or even his cousin Cersei's, but he could have sworn he could wrench it back from the Targaryen girl. True, the commoners didn't give a shit about who was ruling, but enough Lannister faithful backed him and there seemed to be enough swords to make something happen. How wrong he had been.

If he was smart, Tyrek would have given up and disappeared into the night, taking Lynesse and fleeing to Essos like she'd suggested a dozen times or more when everything started to fall apart. But no, he had to be noble and live up to the house words _Hear me roar!_

"We'll enter the city at dawn, a group of sellswords looking to train with the Unsullied for the queen," he called. "That's the rouse. Don't forget it or you'll ruin us before we set foot in the city."

The men nodded to one another. They were stupid. Even a bad plan seemed like a good one to them, as long as someone spoke it with confidence. As stupid as they were, they were headstrong. He commanded that the women and children be left alone, except that damn Highgarden Spy, but the men didn't listen. They were cowherds and blacksmiths, and there were disturbed men among them. He ignored the atrocities the best he could.

Tyrek counted on at least leaving his mark in history. The last loyal Lannister, he imagined he'd be called, raising a rebellion against the foreign invader queen. Instead, he was the leader of a rebellion that would soon be squashed.

* * *

"They're moving at dawn," Grey Worm announced at the table. "Unsullied are ready."

Daenerys sat back. "How many?"

Tyrion shook his head. "Lynesse Hightower only offered as much as she needed to. We have no idea how many men remain."

"Not more than a few hundred," Jorah added, "from what my men have found."

The queen nodded. "If they're moving at dawn, we'll move before. I don't want to lose a single man in this. Kill the rebels."

Missandei shifted in her seat. "You had mentioned taking them prisoner and giving them a chance, Your Grace?"

"I've changed my mind." Daenerys looked around the table. "They are not stupid boys, they are traitors to the crown and they've done unspeakable things to my subjects. My people must know that I will protect them at any cost. Kill them all. Lannister, especially. I'll have his head. Grey Worm, this will be an easy battle?"

"Battle?" he laughed. "No. Not battle. Squashing, like a cockroach." He nodded confidently. "We not lose a soldier, Khaleesi."

"Good." Daenerys turned to Jorah. "Ride out. I'll have my most valiant men leading the charge. The people will hear tales of Ser Jorah and Grey Worm crushing the rebels and bringing peace to the country once again."

Jorah nodded. He cared not for any more songs or tales about him, and especially didn't feel like slaughtering young farmboys. Nevertheless, he offered her a small smile. "Yes, Your Grace."

"I'll see you all back for a feast in your honor when the battle is won," Daenerys said. "I'll send word to the kitchens now. Rest this evening. I'll not see a scratch on any of you tomorrow."

* * *

She'd been riding for days, only resting when it was pitch black. Her back hurt. Her haunches hurt. Baylee did her best to stretch in the saddle, but it did no good. _At least I'm close,_ she reminded herself over and again. The sun wasn't yet ready to rise, but she'd mounted up and started once again for home.

The woods were familiar by now. She slowed her mare to a walk. "Rest for a bit, girl," Baylee cooed as she patted the beast's neck. Birds sang in the trees and the scenery was eerily beautiful in the pre-dawn glow, but Baylee didn't notice. She was consumed with her thoughts. _What will he say? Will he be angry? Does he dare punish me for leaving?_ Stroking her stomach, she shook her head. _He would never harm me, at least, or the baby._ His face, stoic yet pleasant, was all she could picture. Soon she'd be able to stroke his cheek, feel the prickle of his whiskers.

A crash in the trees plunged her back to reality. "Hello?" she called, touching the sword hilt on her hip. "Who goes there?"

"Help us!" a cry answered.

" _Shut up!"_ someone else shushed.

Baylee urged the horse forward and found two boys on their backs on the ground. A grown man held them there, a knife at one of their throats.

"Let them go," she commanded, drawing her steel. "What have these children done to you?"

"They stole my pack as I slept," the man replied. "I'm an innocent traveler and they stole from me! There's no need for a sword, lady."

"No, no, that's not true!" one of the boys whimpered. The distress on his face told of something much more dire happening than a simple robbery. "We were just playing away from our village and got lost and then they said they were going to-"

"Shut up, you little shits," the man snapped.

 _They?_ Baylee looked the man over. He wore armor instead of a travel cloak. "You're no traveler. You're a soldier." _Rebels!_ She reined in, but it was too late. An arrow caught her in the shoulder and threw her from her horse. The animal screamed and bolted. "No!" Baylee shrieked, rolling over, tearing the bolt from her arm and stumbling to her feet. Adrenaline numbed the pain and sent her senses surging. _Rebels,_ she thought again in shock. _They're not dead yet?_ "You fuckers."

"That's not very nice language for a lady," the man scoffed.

Drawing her sword, Baylee slashed wildly at the rebel, who had forgotten about the children. "Run!" Baylee shouted to the boys, who were huddled together and crying behind a tree. "Run to the city! Get help! Take the horse!" Baylee heard hooves a moment later.

Another arrow whizzed past and she shrieked when she felt it pass by.

The man grinned. "Oy, stupid bitch! Put the little blade of yours there down. You're outnumbered. I've got a mate out there sending those pretty little pricks your way. The next one isn't going to be as easy to pull out." He reached out. "You'd be smart to get on your way. That'll need lookin' after."

"Fuck off," Baylee spat. "Where's your leader? I know you're with Lannister." The wind blew and her cloak blew back, revealing her pregnant stomach.

"Well, would you look at that," the man breathed, licking his teeth. "I've never had a pregnant woman before. Boys, sure, but they get borin' after a while. There's something about a woman."

Baylee charged forward, bringing her sword down with all the strength she could muster. The man raised his sword and cried out angrily. A lucky blow from Baylee caught him in the hip dropped the man to his knees. Baylee pulled her sword back up and prepared to swing again, then hesitated. She didn't realize she'd been run through until the rebel pulled the sword back to show it shimmering red.


	30. Halfway Happily Ever After

The familiar, terrible smell of burnt human hung in the air. Even as Jorah had muttered _dracarys_ to Rhaegal, he found no joy in it. The rebel camp exploded, forcing survivors into the surrounding woods where the Unsullied were waiting. 'Battle' was a far a descriptor as you could get. It had been a slaughter.

"Well done," Jorah nodded to Grey Worm, who was joking with one of his soldiers.

Grey Worm nodded back. "Dragon Commander," he replied with an easy smile. "Too bad the dragons cannot do this part."

The dead and dying men on the ground were all unfamiliar to Jorah. He rolled a young rebel over and found him choking on his own blood. Grimacing, Jorah put him out of his misery. Though the woods stunk of death, Jorah willed himself to find joy in it. The attacks would come to an end at last. Peace could settle over the city once more. The children would be safer. The kingsroad safer now. _This is for the best._

Ahead, a body writhed on the ground. A soft moaning drew him in. Jorah strode over and meant to roll the body over with his boot, but the long curly hair made him suck in a breath. _It cannot be._ He knelt and easily rolled the body over. He wanted to wail in anguish when familiar eyes blinked up at him.

"Baylee?" he whispered. Jorah pulled her cloak aside and looked her over. Her red dress was damp. _No,_ he realized in horror, her dress was grey but blood-soaked. _She's been stabbed._ A gaping wound in the side of her stomach had a partner on the other side of her abdomen. Mother and child would soon be dead. Her pregnant belly was slouched to one side and Jorah didn't dare examine her wound further. Instead, he looked up to her face and forced a smile. "I'm surprised to see you in this part of the country, my lady."

Baylee took as deep a breath as she could. "I was coming home," she muttered softly. "I should have the first time." She sighed and her head dropped to the side. "Forgive me." She was cold and tired. _At least he found me,_ Baylee thought in relief. _He'll take care of me._ In her fog, she was thankful Jorah didn't appear to be mad at her. _Perhaps there's still hope for us._

Jorah nodded and took her hand. "You're home," he said gruffly, fighting back tears. "You're forgiven. You lost a baby and needed a change, like you said. I understand. None can fault you for that." Pressing his lips together, he nodded. "You're home."

Trembling so hard she could scarcely speak, Baylee laughed weakly. "You'll take me back?"

"Of course, of course," Jorah nodded, touching her face, her hair, one last time. "Everything is how you left it. Your window seat, your books. And the baby will have everything."

Nodding weakly, Baylee _hmm_ ed. She could see it: Jorah lifting the child out of its bassinet in the morning sunshine, a wide smile on his face as the babe, dark haired and pale, reached out to pat his chin. She smiled. "Yes."

"Good. We'll go soon." Jorah blinked through tears, which trickled down his cheeks. "All the rebels are slaughtered. The city is safe. Those who attacked you are dead." He stroked her face once again. "Justice, Baylee."

Her lips tugged upward for a moment before she gasped and choked. Blood trickled down her chin.

"Shh," Jorah cooed her, praying she wasn't in pain.

"Home?" Baylee whispered. Before Jorah could answer, she began to hyperventilate and shake.

 _This is it._ Jorah knelt and wrapped his arms around her as best he could. "Baylee, Baylee," he cooed, wishing he could turn away. She was going into shock. Jorah squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. _This is it._

The color drained from her face and her chest rose and fell rapidly, unnaturally. Jorah had seen countless men die on the battlefield. Seeing Baylee die was too much. Yes, she left him and was pregnant by another man, but she didn't deserve this death. She had been a good wife to him. Suddenly he recalled her drawing him a bath and soothing his cracked, bleeding skin. "I won't leave you. I won't leave you, Baylee. Rest, just rest." His voice broke and tears fell from his eyes onto Baylee. "You're home."

A gurgle from her throat caught the attention of Javo, who rushed over. "Why you keep this survivor, Lord Commander? We kill them all, Khaleesi says."

"No," Jorah muttered softly as the queensguard dropped to one knee beside him.

"Lady Mormont?" Javo asked in confusion. "She fight?"

"She was at the wrong place at the wrong time," Jorah sighed. He wiped a tear away with a bloody glove. Red smeared across his cheek. "Go. I'll stay with her."

Another series of violent tremors shook her body, then she went limp in his arms.

Javo put a hand on Jorah's shoulder. "We bring her back."

"Home," Jorah whispered.

* * *

A week had passed since the rebellion fell. The battle was uneventful, yet Daenerys and Jon had decided to show their unity between North and South by gathering in King's Landing for a celebratory feast. Neither the queen nor king felt like revelry, as Baylee Mormont was already in her tomb. Jorah denied a grand funeral, and instead quietly buried her himself.

It was the night of the feast. Merry music played and dancers from Essos roamed between long tables of lords and ladies. In the midst of it, Jorah saw a flash of red hair flying toward him before a woman launched herself into his arms.

"It's so unfair," Sansa Stark squeaked before between violent sobs.

"My lady," he soothed her. Jorah wrapped his arms around the woman, his white cloak falling over his arm and over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I know Baylee was a sister to you."

Sniffling, Sansa nodded and looked up, her green eyes even more vibrant when rimmed with red. "I'm so sorry, Ser Jorah," she whispered. "It's all wrong. I wanted to write sooner. I tried to talk to her. I cannot believe she's gone. Maybe if she hadn't- oh, I don't know."

He nodded. "I know." She tucked her head under his chin and Jorah was surprised to hear himself sigh.

A gruff voice came from behind him. "If you're quite done with my sister?"

Jorah turned and quickly nodded his head to King Jon. "Your Grace," he said plainly.

"Excuse us, Sansa." Jon stared expectantly at her.

She shook her head. "No. I'll stay here. Anything you can say between the two of you has to do with _my_ friend. I'll stay." She rested a hand on Jorah's chest and her head on his shoulder. "You cannot say anything ill of her."

Jon looked as if he wanted to strike her, but turned his attention to Jorah. "I'm sorry about your wife," he said.

"You'll recall she wasn't my wife any longer, and by your order," Jorah answered. He tried to turn Sansa out of his chest, but she stayed planted to the spot and clutched his cloak harder as she fought off her tears.

"I'm sorry," Jon repeated. "For all of it. Truly. I- had I known it would lead to this, I-"

"As am I," Jorah replied brusquely. "Baylee wasn't just my wife. Many will miss her and mourn her." At that, Sansa exploded into a new bout of wails. He stroked her hair. "I'd lived without Baylee for months and never expected to see her again."

"Was she dead when you found her?" Jon asked.

Jorah was surprised at the king's nonchalance. "No," he replied. "Nearly, but no. She said she was coming home to me."

Sansa wailed harder. "I knew she would. She was good. She was _good!"_ She glared at Jon. "You took advantage of her! I _told you_ she was good."

"That's enough," Jorah softly said. "What's done is done." He glanced up at Jon, who swallowed hard and struggled for words.

Lylane bounded over and threw her arms around Jon's legs, since Jorah's were covered by Sansa's skirts. "Ser Jorah, Ser Jorah, what now? Will you get a new wife?"

"Lylane, not now," Jon barked, cuffing her on the shoulder. "Those are _not_ appropriate questions for a man whose wife just died. Can't you see the adults are talking? Go find Septa."

"She's all right," Jorah replied, smiling down at the girl. "She's a princess. She'll do as she pleases."

Sansa sniffled and stepped back. "Lylane, remember, we must be proper ladies in King's Landing."

Unphased by Sansa's tears, Lylane sighed. "But you're not acting like a lady," she snapped. "Is Ser Jorah going to get a new wife?" She blinked at him, awaiting an answer.

"Lylane!" Jon boomed. "Enough!"

"I'm too old to get married again," Jorah offered.

Lylane frowned. "Nuh uh."

He made a face. "I didn't have a wife for a good many years," he replied. "I'll just look after the realm. How's that?"

"No," Lylane snapped. "A wife!"

"I'll look after queens and princesses, then." Jorah nodded. "How's _that?_ "

"Maybe I'll be your wife one day," Lylane suggested. "Aunt Sansa says it doesn't matter who you marry as long as he's a good man. She always says you'd be a good husband, right Auntie? On the way here she said you would be a good husband and Lord of Winterfell."

Sansa hiccuped in surprise. "Lylane, come along. Let's let your father and Ser Jorah talk." A blush had already lit up her cheeks. She bent and took Lylane's hand, casting a quick glance at Jorah before hurrying away.

"Stark women," Jon mumbled.

Smiling in spite of himself, Jorah nodded. "Starks, indeed."

* * *

 _Two Months Later_

"The rebellion is over, the dead are buried, the dragons full grown." Daenerys leaned on the railing of her balcony and sighed contentedly. Brilliant colors swirled in the sky as the sun set. The pink glow made her eyes look fluorescent. "How long do you think this peace will last?"

Jorah watched the clouds light up in rich oranges and purples. "Hard to say, Khaleesi. It could be years. It could be an age. It could be until tomorrow."

The queen turned to him. "How are you, my bear?"

"Don't worry about me, Khaleesi."

"I must. You're my closest friend and adviser. I'd be lost without you." She sighed and turned back to the sunset. "I wish I could love you better, I truly do."

Jorah glanced at her, curious at what brought about her pensieve mood. "I know, Khaleesi. It is enough to serve you. My life has been well spent by your side. I have no regrets about my choices and loyalties, perhaps save serving Robert Baratheon."

"You don't regret marrying Lynesse Hightower? What a foolish woman," Daenerys scoffed. "Are you certain you're pleased with her execution? Should you have any kindness for her, I'll allow her banishment."

He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "She's a traitor and a rebel. She should die with the rest of them. It is not my right to decide who lives and who dies in this game of thrones."

Daenerys nodded. "Then she shall die with the rest after their trials are at last complete."

A silence fell over the pair. They drank their wine and watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon. Jorah glanced upward. The stars were twinkling in their blue blanket. He liked to imagine that Baylee was at peace somewhere, finally at home and feeling like she belonged.

"Lady Stark quite fancies you, you know," Daenerys broke the silence. "She kept finding the strangest reasons to bring up your name this afternoon. Plus, she's been loath to leave. Jon's been gone for a month."

Jorah scoffed. "She's young," he chuckled. "She'll learn better. Her fancies would be better spent on a handsome young northman. What of Remy? He's mentioned perhaps considering taking another wife." He thought fondly of his man and how loyal he'd turned out to be. Remy was on his path to knighthood and Jorah couldn't help but look at him like a son.

"She has no interest in Remy. 'Does Ser Jorah ever tea with you?' 'Does Ser Jorah go riding in the mornings?' 'What does Ser Jorah think about that?' If I knew her better, I'd have asked why she didn't just beg my blessing for a marriage." The queen smiled. "It wouldn't be a bad match, you know."

Jorah cast her a sidelong glance.

Daenerys laughed. "None else would dare look at their queen that way," she challenged. "None but my dragon lord." She embraced him and rested her head on his shoulder. "How our lives have changed."

"Aye," Jorah agreed. "An exile knight and a hunted princess, now a queen and her stooge."

She stood back and cuffed him on the arm. "You're not a stooge. I already told you you're my everything. Rebellions will rise and fall, marriages will be proposed and fail, and seasons will change, but you'll forever be my beloved bear."

The wind left Jorah and he nodded. _I'll serve her until my dying day, and I'd have it no other way._ Not entirely fulfilling, not exactly what he'd once wanted, not quite logical, but enough. It was enough.

 **A/N: I 'm bad at goodbyes. I love these characters! I have another Jorah story in the works - this one is a Young Bear and his Maiden Fair. (; Keep an eye out for it soon.**


End file.
